


Rush

by dxdoc



Category: House M.D.
Genre: Complete, F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-04-24
Updated: 2019-04-24
Packaged: 2020-01-25 20:31:30
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 29,471
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18582055
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dxdoc/pseuds/dxdoc
Summary: House is three months into his probationary return to Princeton-Plainsboro when events conspire to leave him in charge of his first case since his stay at Mayfair. Relationships are tested as not even House knows if he will succeed. All your favorites!





	1. Bickers

**Author's Note:**

> This was written the summer before the season six premiere.

Saturday-11:56pm

Cameron was hoping for a quiet night in the ER at Princeton Plainsboro. It was a Saturday in early February but the winter storms had cleared out earlier in the week and New Jersey was enjoying a brief mild spell before the next cold front threatened sometime mid next week. The lull in the snow and ice storms had already brought down the number of injuries from winter driving, compared to the previous weekend, which had brought big business for her crowded department from motorists sliding and plowing into one another in the slick conditions. Every year it snowed and every year people forgot how to drive in the stuff.

She kept her eye on the clock and the board. At just after midnight she had a weak and dizzy all over, a slip and fall with a sprained ankle, a newborn with a fever, an elderly woman needing stitches following a late night cooking accident, and a rule out heart attack. Not too bad. The resident was stitching, an intern was bandaging the ankle, labs were cooking on the newborn and the probable case of flu, and Cardiology was on their way down to retrieve her possible MI.

Charting was almost caught up and she was sorting through scheduling requests for next month when the EMS radio crackled in the background. Cameron looked up and finding herself closest, she shoved off from the desk and wheeled her chair towards the shriek of static.

"Princeton Plainsboro ER. Over," she answered the call.

"Unit eleven preparing to transport," a young man's voice came through loud and clear. "Patient is a nineteen year-old male, probable alcohol poisoning. LOC when we pulled up. We've got a line but can't get a tube placed. Over."

Cameron stood from her chair and motioned to several of the nurses to grab whoever was available. "That's okay, eleven," Cameron was calm. "We'll take care of it. What's your ETA? Over."

"About two minutes, Princeton," answered the same voice. "We're around the corner. Big party on Prospect. Probably see a couple more of these tonight. Over."

"We'll be ready. Over." Cameron ended the transmission and moved to mobilize her troops.

She slipped into gloves and donned the yellow trauma gown and safety glasses that a nurse had handed her. "Listen up," she barely had to raise her voice as her team of residents, interns, and nurses gathered round, each putting on their own protective gear. "We've got a probable alcohol poisoning on our doorstep. Make sure we've got plenty of IV fluids with electrolytes and get dialyses down here. Grab some warming blankets," she called out as the ambulance pulled up to the door.

Two nurses scrambled away to set up the room and carry out Cameron's orders while two more accompanied her and one of the residents to the bay. The intern hung back, waiting for instructions.

The gurney entered feet first through the automatic doors and into the warmth of the hospital. One EMT steered the patient towards the trauma bay while the other bagged, hyperventilating in preparation for intubation.

"Doctor Cameron," she announced herself. "How's he doing?"

The EMT wheeling the gurney responded and Cameron recognized his voice as the one she'd heard on the radio. "Qaiser Zaheer, nineteen year-old male, found unconscious and unresponsive at the scene. Girl who called 911 said he'd been drinking pretty heavily. Pupils are still equal and reactive so he may have some brain cells left. Blood pressure is 83 over 60. Pulse ox at 80. Temperature is down to 96."

Cameron grabbed the chart from the EMT. "Must be that time of year. Was he a pledge?"

The EMT bagging answered. "No one would admit to it but Prospect Avenue looked like Mardi gras. We showed up, this guy was in the grass covered in his own vomit."

Cameron turned them into the open trauma room. "Did he aspirate?" she asked, masking distress in her voice.

"Good chance," the first EMT answered. "Couldn't get the tube in. Didn't want to risk the O2 mask so he's on a nasal canula."

"On my count. One, two, three." The team slid the young man from the gurney to the ER bed in one swift motion at Cameron's direction. "Weber!" she shouted for the intern who appeared immediately beside her. "Take over bagging."

One of the nurses had finished removing the teenager's clothes and was draping the patient with warmed blankets.

"No signs of trauma," the EMT who had been bagging said as she moved out of the way. "It doesn't look like he hurt his head on the way down; no bumps, bruises, or broken bones."

The nurse who had discarded the clothing nodded in agreement with the EMT's trauma assessment.

Nurses and technicians moved around Cameron, connecting oxygen, pulseometers, and EKG leads.

"Any one there who knew if he was on any medications or other drugs?" Cameron asked.

The EMTs shook their heads, retrieving their equipment.

"Okay, thanks. We'll take it from here," she dismissed them. "I need a number seven ET tube. Rawlins," she called out to the resident. "Get prepped for a gastric lavage." She turned to one of the nurses. "Warm IVs and let’s get a dextrose drip started. Get a blood alcohol and a complete tox screen on this guy. Stick a glucose and get a CBC and CHEM 20."

Cameron took the scope and the plastic tube that would secure her patient's airway from a nurse. She carefully tilted the head into position and swept the blade of her scope into the mouth and over the tongue. The stench of cheap alcohol and vomit made her take a step back. "Ugh," she muttered, her nose pinching up. She leaned forward again, holding her breath. "What else Weber?" she quizzed her intern as she focused on the patient's airway.

"Uh," the twenty-something newly minted doctor turned green. "Chest x-ray?" she said timidly. "And –"

Before Weber had a chance to finish, the room erupted into chaos.

"He's seizing!" Rawlins exclaimed.

Cameron retreated with her blade and tube. "Get him on his side!" The team rolled the patient onto his left side to keep him from breathing in any more of his own vomit. "Did we start the Dextrose drip yet?" she called out to the nurses.

"Not yet," Kelly, the same nurse who had given her the ET tube spoke. "You want to push?"

Cameron nodded affirmatively. "Yep. Push Dextrose, fifty milliliters IV." She looked up at the EKG. Her patient's heart rhythm still appeared okay. "Weber, why the Dextrose instead of an anticonvulsant?" Even with her patient seizing, Allison Cameron didn't miss an opportunity to teach.

"No known history of seizures," Weber answered. "It's most likely a side effect of the alcohol poisoning."

"Dextrose is in," Kelly announced.

Another nurse stepped in and began suctioning the patient's mouth.

"Good," Cameron said.

Rawlins added, "Hypoglycemia is a side effect of alcohol poisoning. The glucose is safer than an anticonvulsant which would depress his nervous system further. Alcohol is a nervous system depressant."

"Gold star for Rawlins," Cameron grinned, eyes still on the heart monitor.

A few moments later the seizure began to subside as the Dextrose took effect. When the final convulsions had abated and the suctioning was complete, Cameron had them roll the patient onto his back again.

"Let's get this airway in now," Cameron declared, taking back her scope and tube. Sweeping the tongue to the side, she followed the light down the throat and past the vocal cords, inserting the ET tube into the larynx and inflating the balloon that would help keep it in place. "I'm in. Bag and check for breath sounds," she instructed her team.

Weber hooked up the blue ambu bag and gave it a few good squeezes while Rawlins placed his stethoscope over the patient's chest, looking and listening for the rise and fall of normal breath sounds that would tell them the tube was getting air into the lungs and not the stomach.

"Placement is good," Rawlins confirmed.

Kelly moved to secure the tube around the patient's mouth. "Pulse ox is coming up."

"Blood pressure and temperature are still low," another nurse informed them.

"Get him on the Dextrose drip and let's get set for the gastric lavage," Cameron said to Rawlins who grabbed a nearby tray.

Taking out a slightly curved piece of tubing, the resident threaded one end inside the left nostril, through the esophagus, and into the stomach. Flushing it with a small amount of warm saline, he waited for the contents of the stomach to fill the collection bag.

"Think he's still got anything in there?" Rawlins asked Cameron.

She shook her head. "Doesn't really matter. It's what's in his blood stream that'll kill him."

From overhead the cardiac monitor began to call for attention. Everyone looked up in unison. The normal spikes and hills of the EKG began to disappear, the T waves at the end of each beat dipping lower and lower.

"Damn it," Cameron gritted her teeth. "He's getting tachy. Get me three hundred milligrams of Amiodarone IV push," Cameron said to Kelly.

"His core temp is still low. It's probably the hypothermia," Rawlins said.

"Not to mention all the electrolytes that make his heart work are drowning in alcohol," Kelly added while inserting a needle into the IV and flushing the line with saline to move the cardiac meds into the circulatory system more quickly.

Seconds later, the alarm went off again. This time the patient was in full arrest and Cameron moved quickly.

"Rawlins, CPR," she directed and the tall man began compressions while Weber continued to bag. Cameron and Kelly pulled over the nearby crash cart.

"Where the hell are my labs?" Cameron called out. "I need his tox screen!"

"On it!" the other nurse ran in the direction of the lab.

"Epi, one milligram IV push!" Cameron called out for the epinephrine that she hoped would jump start the heart.

"It's in!" Kelly exclaimed a second later, anticipating Cameron's orders.

"Someone get in here and take over the lavage!" Rawlins called out in between compressions to another resident who had joined the code team.

"Call radiology, cardiology, and dialysis and get them down here now!" Cameron instructed one of the nurses.

"You want lidocane?" Kelly asked, charging the defibrillator.

"Not yet," Cameron said. "Charged to two hundred. Clear!"

Everyone lifted their hands off the patient for the second it took to shock him. Then it was back to business.

"He's still tachy," Rawlins said after looking at the monitor.

"Pulse and blood pressure dropping," Webster called out.

Her patient's heart continued to struggle to beat.

"No pulse," she called out as the monitor dropped. "Charge to 300."

Kelly hit the charge button.

Cameron yelled out, "Clear!" and all hands came off as the patient jerked up off the bed.

"What about magnesium sulfate and sodium bicarbonate?" Webster asked intently as cardiac compressions resumed. "If it's the electrolyte imbalance-"

"I have no idea what else this kid took!" Cameron exclaimed. She hated giving medications without a history, something left over from her days as House's fellow. "Magnesium can depress the respiratory and central nervous systems and give him more kidney problems than he's already got. And I'm not giving him sodium bicarbonate until I know what, if anything else, he took besides alcohol," Cameron explained, turning to set the charge to 360 joules.

  
Rawlins gestured for the man beside him to take over CPR. Wiping the sweat off his brow, he took a look at the contents from the lavage. "There's hardly anything here," he told Cameron. "If he took anything, he's thrown it up by now."

"Or it's in his bloodstream or intestines," Cameron answered.

"Heart rate and blood pressure still falling," Kelly interrupted. "Temperature is holding steady at 96.3."

"Clear!" Cameron ordered and shocked her patient. "And reset it. Get the Lidocane ready."

"Hold on!" Rawlins said, staring intently at the monitor.

They all stared at the monitors, waiting. Cameron held her breath.

"Still tachy but his pulse is stronger," Kelly declared. "BP is climbing."

"How long since the push?" Cameron asked her.

"Almost five minutes."

"Push it again. 150 milligrams Amiodarone and hold compressions."

The room went silent as Kelly pushed another dose. Slowly the blood pressure and pulse increased as the EKG showed a more stable rhythm. An audible sigh of relief could be heard throughout the department.

"Okay," Cameron said, returning the paddles to their cart. "Heart rate, BP, and temperature are improving but we need to get them stabilized. Where's dialysis?"

"They're on their way," the nurse who had headed for the telephone reappeared. "And cardiology is sending someone down as soon as they can. X-ray is here now."

"Great, let's get a chest film," she said, inviting the X-ray techs and their large, portable machine into the room. "Rawlins, let's flush the gastric lavage one more time to be sure. Webster, you're in charge of getting his temperature up."

The intern looked frightened and excited. "Yes, Doctor."

"Did we get a catheter placed?" Cameron asked the room.

"Yes," one of the nurses reported. "But he hasn't given us much."

"He's dehydrated from the alcohol," Cameron thought out loud.

The technicians handed her a lead apron and she slipped it on. Rawlins, Webster and Kelly all put on a lead apron and the technicians went to work.

Chart in hand, Cameron began her follow up orders. "The chest X-ray will tell us if everything is still in place and if he aspirated enough to cause lung trouble. Let's get an MRI of the head and neck to make certain he didn't hit himself too hard when he passed out. Stick another glucose but keep him on the Dextrose drip. Let dialysis make the call on that one. Keep the warming blankets and heated IVs."

"We're done," one of the technicians announced, holding out an arm to collect their aprons.

"Thanks," Cameron smiled. "Send it down as soon as you can, please."

They nodded and rolled the large cart out of the room.

The nurse who had been sent to retrieve the tox screen report reappeared, breathless. "Preliminary tox screen is clean. Blood alcohol level is at .26, though."

A chorus of "ouches" and "yikes" and gagging noises erupted.

"Dialysis better get here fast," Rawlins said. "This kid's kidneys have got to be trashed."

"Mine hurt just thinking about it," Kelly added.

Cameron winced. "Hope he has some brain cells left when he wakes up." She turned to Webster. "Go ahead with magnesium sulfate and sodium bicarb," she amended. “His kidneys can't get much worse and he didn't take anything the bicarbonate would interact with." She then turned to Kelly. "Keep him on the Amiodarone, 540 milligrams over the next 18 hours or until cardiology clears him. And just to be safe, put him on Clindomycin. I don't want to save this guy from alcohol poisoning only to have him die from aspiration pneumonia."

"Want me to contact the family?" Rawlins offered.

"No, I'll do it," Cameron said, taking in a deep breath and managing a small grin. "You get back to your feverish baby and grandma with stitches. And thanks." Cameron gave him a sincere smile.

"You're welcome," Rawlins returned the smile.

Cameron finished jotting orders on the chart. Kelly handed her a wallet that the EMTs had found.

"That's a phone call no parent ever wants to get," the nurse sympathized.

Cameron nodded, turning the wallet over in her hands. Opening it she found a student ID, a driver's license, three dollars, a Visa card and a wad of yellow receipts.

"I'm going to go track down the dialyses team," Cameron said with a sad smile, discarding her glasses, gown and gloves in the hazardous waste bin.

"Let me know if anything changes."

Backing out of the trauma bay, Cameron sighed deeply and tightened her ponytail, hoping that this would be the only serious madness in an otherwise quiet night.  
________________________________________  
Thursday-11:20am

"Trade me muffins," House said to Wilson, switching them before Wilson could protest.

Wilson stared at House over coffee from a table in the hospital's cafeteria. "If you wanted blueberry why didn't you just get blueberry?" he inquired with a cocked brow.

House swallowed and said, "We can't order the same thing," as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. "Two dudes with the same purchase and only one of those dudes is paying?" he referred to Wilson of course. "Can you imagine the gossip?"

Wilson smiled sarcastically. "Yes. Heaven forbid there be any more gossip about you making the rounds."

Along with the usual speculations, Princeton Plainsboro had had almost five months to whisper and wonder about where and what House had been up to. Cuddy and Wilson had done an excellent job convincing the board and anyone else who asked that he'd finally come to terms with his Vicodin addiction and had checked himself into rehab, something they all had been begging him to do for years. The rehab part was true and continuing on the assumption that a lie based in truth is harder to dispute, they'd done an even better job at concealing the hallucinations that had been the trigger for House's four month stay at Mayfair. After another month of outpatient physical and psychotherapy, House had been encouraged to return to work and Cuddy had been slowly persuaded to allow him, with conditions.

House glanced at the cafeteria which was almost empty before the noon lunch rush. Then, turning back to Wilson, proudly declared, "Hey, if the gossip didn't revolve around me, I'd be offended."

"You know, I think you would be," Wilson replied, feeding House's narcissism with words and himself with the banana nut muffin that had been best friend's until a few minutes ago.

"Uh oh!" House suddenly dodged to the side. "Caring, overly involved doctor approaching at twelve o clock."

Wilson turned and spotted Cameron crossing the cafeteria.

"Technically, it's your six o clock," House strained to whisper from his contorted position behind the table.

Wilson rolled his eyes. "Don't worry. She'll never find you with that clever hiding place." He had to stifle a chuckle at House's twisted body as he tried to stay flat and still peak around the corner, his long back arched into a lump just above the tabletop.

"House," Cameron stood beside Wilson and waited for him to come up for air. "House?"

"Sorry," Wilson stared up at her. "He was here a minute ago. Let me see if I can – " He stopped and gave House a swift kick to the foot.

"Ouch!" House protested as he banged his head against the edge of the table. Rubbing his head, House glared at Wilson and teased, "Some friend you are. Kick a cripple when he's down."

"That's what you get for stealing my muffin," Wilson said with a satisfied grin.

Cameron saw an opening and jumped in. "House, I have a case for you." She slid the patient chart she'd been holding towards him.

House frowned back at her. "You mean you have a case for Foreman," he corrected, sliding the file back. House was three months in to an uncapped probationary period.

"No," Cameron said, more firmly this time. "Foreman left last night. Don't you read your email?"

"Why should I? You still read it for me."

She pressed her lips together and took a deep breath. "I got one of my own, House. He's staying with his mother for a few days while his dad gets checked out for a mild heart attack."

Wilson's brown eyes looked at her sympathetically. "Did they keep him for observation?"

Cameron nodded. "He was shoveling the snow off the sidewalk and a neighbor called an ambulance when he collapsed."

"You know a true neighbor would have shoveled the walk for him, thereby avoiding the heart attack," House pointed out.

"Yes," Cameron simply agreed. "But in the meantime, you have a case." She shoved the file back towards him.

"I don't know if you've noticed," House said with more than a hint of resentment, "but my privileges around here are pretty much limited to whatever I can do from a room in the clinic. I may have all the cool ideas, but Foreman still has to sign off on pretty much my every move."

Ignoring him, Cameron sat herself down next to Wilson and opened the chart facing House.

"A nineteen year-old came into the ER Saturday night with a blood alcohol level of .26," she began.

Wilson let out a whistle.

"You're already working weekend nights in the ER?" House looked suspiciously at Cameron. "Honeymoon over for you and Chase?"

"No," Cameron placated him. "I traded a couple weekend shifts for Valentine's off. As I was saying," she cleared her throat, "kid with alcohol poisoning. He had a seizure and his heart stopped for about a minute but we got him stable enough for dialysis. He was unconscious and had vomited so I started him on Clindomycin for aspiration pneumonia."

"If only antibiotics could resurrect brain cells," House said, bored.

"The dialysis cleared his system of the alcohol and he regained consciousness. Aside from some short term memory loss, neurological function seems intact," Cameron continued.

"Lucky kid," Wilson said.

"Maybe not," Cameron answered. "His kidneys are failing."

"That tends to happen with excessive drinking," House said through a bite of blueberry muffin.

Cameron shook her head. "He swears this was the first time he'd ever had alcohol."

House let a smirk linger on his stubbled face. "This kid's blood alcohol was .26 and he's not a vegetable? Trust me. This kid has been binging since junior high."

"I don't think so," Cameron said sincerely. "He's Muslim, House."

House gave her his best 'that's sweet but so naïve' grin. "I don't know what kind of kids you went to school with but I know for a fact that Muslim co-eds can kick ass at beer pong. Especially during pledge week."

"Bickers," Wilson corrected him. House stared. "What? They call it Bickers at Princeton."

"Yes," House said. "And they call fraternities Eating Clubs and hold initiations in February. I know I'm fooled," he mocked.

Cameron continued. "He admitted to drinking as part of some initiation dare but said it was the first time he'd ever had alcohol and I believe him."

"You always do," House told her.

"The family confirms that until he came to Princeton he was studying almost every free hour. They even hired a tutor that came to the house three times a week. He needed a scholarship to pay for school," Cameron explained.

"And since he's been away from Mommy and Daddy?" House looked at her.

"I don't know," Cameron admitted. "But it doesn't matter. If he'd had enough alcohol in his nineteen years to trash his kidneys, his liver would be failing too."

"She's right, House," Wilson backed her up.

House looked down at the patient's chart for the first time. He held up a chest x-ray, looking for fluid in the lungs. "It's possible that the Clindomycin you gave him to head off vomit-induced pneumonia damaged the kidneys." He squinted at the film. "Doesn't look to me like he has pneumonia. Next time, wait for the bacteria to grow before prescribing organ-damaging drugs."

Cameron reached over and pulled another x-ray from the chart. "That's yesterday's," she said, taking it from his hands. "This is this morning's." The one House now held showed fluid in the lungs. "And that's only 24 hours after he was taken off the antibiotics that weren't necessary for the non-existent pneumonia that may have been causing the kidney failure."

"Huh," House stared at the new film, his interest rising.

"He's also started running a fever and they've put him back on IV electrolytes. Seems his body forgot how to produce those while he was on dialysis," Cameron drove her point home.

House looked over the most recent labs. BUN and creatinine levels up, GFR down.

"Are they putting him back on dialysis?" Wilson asked Cameron.

"I persuaded them to hold off until I could get House to take the case," she told them both.

The corner of House's lip curled into a coy grin. "Are you pandering to my ego?"

"Is it working?"

Wilson laughed. House looked pleased but pensive.

"I'm assuming you cleared this with Cuddy?" House asked her. It was a reasonable question considering he'd need full privileges to take the case.

Cameron, despite looking like a deer in headlights, quickly responded. "Of course I did."

House flashed a playful smile at Wilson. "Look at our little girl," he gestured to Cameron. "She's all grown up, married, running her own department, and she still can't lie worth a damn." He finished with an amused chuckle.

"Why do you assume I'm lying?" she asked, though innocence wasn't exactly written on her face.

"If you had already talked to Cuddy," House explained, "you would have waited until I was alone, free from Wilson's nagging need to keep me in line and keep Cuddy informed. If you were concerned about pleading your case to Cuddy, you'd wait until I was with Wilson, peak my interest with your patient's kidneys while playing to his need to support you caring for a patient you should have been finished with days ago and my need to treat patients without a hall monitor."

Wilson looked taken aback. "Wow. Somehow I feel used."

House looked at Cameron expectantly.

"Fine," she relented. "I haven't cleared it with Cuddy yet. I'll go and do it now if it matters so much to you."

"Don't be ridiculous!" House exclaimed, reaching for his cane and coffee cup. "I wouldn't send you in there alone."

"You wouldn't?" Cameron and Wilson said in unison, both suspicious.

House stood. "Cameron is decades away from playing on Cuddy's level."

"Okay." Cameron wasn't sure whether to be flattered or insulted.

"We'll all go!" House announced in a way that made everyone within the sound of his voice nervous. Babies in the nursery may have begun to cry.

"Why am I going?" Wilson asked, pushing in his chair.

"Support," Cameron reminded him.

Wilson thought about it a moment then nodded and followed House and Cameron out of the cafeteria. Support or no, this should at least make for an interesting afternoon's entertainment.  
________________________________________  
Cuddy sat behind her desk staring at the trio of doctors before her with a lump in her throat. One of them alone would be routine. Two of them together in her office usually meant trouble. All three conjured up images of catastrophes.

"Let me guess," she said, her nails digging into the arms of her chair. "House managed to drag Wilson into some elaborate scheme to make your day hell," Cuddy pointed at Cameron, "which resulted in the explosive destruction of the ER." If her voice was calm, the panic behind her eyes betrayed her.

"Sounds plausible," House admitted.

"The ER is fine," Cameron reassured.

Cuddy looked at Wilson who shrugged.

"I'm just here for support, apparently," he told her.

Cuddy slid her chair back, crossing her legs and narrowing her eyes. House shifted his focus, finding her pose seductive. Neither of them was ready to fully confront his vivid delusion of her in a mind-blowing sexual encounter.

"Well?" Cuddy waited for one of them to speak up.

Cameron obliged. "I need House to take a case," she said quickly, as if she were ripping off a band aid.

"Hmm," Cuddy frowned. "As long as all the patient needs is a swab, rectal, or x-ray, that should be fine. Oh and antibiotics. He's allowed to prescribe those."

"Really?" House feigned surprise. "I guess I should have done something about those positive swabs then."

Cuddy returned his smirk. "I'm sorry, Doctor Cameron," Cuddy said. "But your patient will have to wait until Foreman gets back."

"If my patient could wait I wouldn't be asking for House's help," Cameron raised her voice, handing Cuddy the file.

House stood, rocking back and forth on his cane as Cuddy reviewed the chart.

"Is this the undergrad that came in with alcohol poisoning?" she asked after a first glance.

House leaned over to Wilson and mumbled, "Here's where it gets political."

Wilson's brow furrowed. "Political?" he whispered back.

"Yes," Cameron answered Cuddy. "He came in on my shift and his condition is deteriorating again."

"This time without the alcohol," House added.

"His kidneys and lungs are failing and ICU can't treat one without making the other worse," Cameron argued.

Cuddy saw Cameron's pleading eyes as she held the chest films up to the light. She held her own breath, reviewing the lab reports from this morning. Her heart skipped a beat, searching for anything in the chart that would let her off the hook and House off the case.

After a long sigh, Cuddy looked up, but her gaze was not focused on anyone in the room. She had closed the file and was leaning with her elbows over it, protectively.

"Do you know what I spent all day Monday doing?" She still wasn't looking at any of the three doctors in front of her and they thought it best to stay quiet until she did. "I spent Monday doing damage control with president of the university," Cuddy announced. Now her eyes focused on Cameron. "Some sophomore lands in the ER from a stupid hazing stunt and suddenly every newspaper and internet blog wants to know if the kid is going to make it. The president," Cuddy focused on House now, "keeps reminding me that while the incident was unfortunate, Princeton doesn't have fraternities and therefore I should play down any references to 'rush week' or 'pledging' or whatever they call it these days."

"Bickers," House threw out, just to annoy her. He was rewarded with a sharp stare that spoke volumes. She aimed it at House, then Wilson, who was giving House a glare of his own. Feeling the heat from her gaze, they both looked down apologetically, like two boys caught with their hands in the cookie jar.

Cuddy continued. "I can't tell the president of the university that this kid is going to die," she said, knowing that the shame she felt at giving in to House shouldn't get in the way of patient care but unable to keep it out of her voice.

"Politics?" Wilson nudged House, who looked to Cuddy for permission to confirm before he nodded.

"Wait a minute," Cameron spoke up. "Is this the reason you had me pulling every alcohol poisoning the ER has treated in the last twenty-five years?"

Cuddy flashed Cameron a small admission of guilt. "The university is on a whole new anti-binge drinking campaign. I just wish it was designed to actually stop binge drinking rather than cover their asses." She rolled her eyes at the last statement.

House hid his amused smile from Cameron. She looked sincerely hurt, something that still managed to surprise and intrigue him. How had she managed to work for him for three years and still maintain her need to have faith in everyone around her?

Cameron stood now with her hands on her hips. "So House can take the case?"

Cuddy's face contorted as she came to terms with her answer. "Yes, House can take the case."

House smiled with a certain sense of self returning to him after the long months. It was quickly pushed down.

"But not without supervision," Cuddy warned, glaring at Wilson.

Wilson followed her eyes from Cameron to House and finally to him where they lingered, waiting. "Me?" he practically choked. "You want me to supervise House on a case?"

"She can't let Cameron supervise," House said blatantly. "Last time she did that the entire hospital practically fell apart." He exaggerated Cameron's brief term as Cuddy's protégé the previous year.

She turned. "The hospital was just fine," Cameron's attempt at hostile sarcasm almost impressed him. "It was you who fell apart."

Wilson winced and Cuddy buried her face in her hands. Cameron was a little too close for comfort. But House simply reacted by being House.

"Touché," he acknowledged Cameron's dig. "Oh relax," he told both Wilson and Cuddy. "Cameron's right. No one could ever replace you, Doctor Cuddy," and he flashed a witty yet sincere grin that tempted to make her smile. He missed seeing that look on her face.

"You can go, Doctor Cameron," Cuddy dismissed her with thanks. "I'm sure the ER needs you."

Cameron nodded. "Thank you," she said to all three of them.

"Keep in touch!" House called after her as she slipped out of the office. "So," he turned to Wilson, excited. "What do you say we round up the troops, boss?"

Wilson shook his head. "No," he answered firmly, looking at Cuddy. "I'm not supervising him."

House saw Cuddy slip into her game face. He had missed seeing that, too; the way her blue eyes would get a sudden twinkle, one corner of her perfect mouth curling ever so slightly, her body angling itself to take full advantage of its curves.

"You don't think he's ready?" Cuddy prodded Wilson.

"It's not that," Wilson insisted, House watching as he played right into Cuddy's hands. "He's ready."

"That is so sweet," House beamed at Wilson who stared back suspiciously. "Sorry. My therapist said I should try being more vocal in my appreciation of others." He paused and looked at Cuddy. "The color of your blouse does amazing things for your breasts," he deadpanned.

Cuddy rolled her eyes, a resigned smile on her face.

"Eyes!" he quickly corrected. "I'm pretty sure I meant to say eyes, not breasts."

"Sorry to interrupt your therapy homework, House," Wilson interjected, "but I'm still not supervising you on a case." He appealed to Cuddy. "I'm his friend. You're his boss."

"And I'm your boss," Cuddy stated plainly. "Don't think of it as supervising," compromise laced her voice. "Think of it as spending time watching your friend work."

"Oh, this is going to be so much fun," House looked at Wilson as if it were Christmas morning. "You and me, a white board full of possibilities, Taub and Thirteen to do all the dirty work. Then of course, you get to go and tattle to Mommy." He looked directly at Cuddy.

"You want me to observe and report back to you?" Wilson asked Cuddy.

"Of course she does," House said, taking no offense.

"If you could keep him from going over the edge or putting the patient through any insanely dangerous procedures, I'd appreciate that, too," Cuddy said with an all business smile.

"You do realize that almost everything House does is in some way or another insane?" Wilson reminded her.

House answered for her. "Yeah, but you know my levels of insanity."

Wilson took a deep breath. "Do I?" He watched House's face fall just a little. He hated to drag the actual psychotic break into the mix, but it was a fair question.

It was Cuddy who reassured them. "Wilson, you know better than anyone," she said with genuine compassion for both Wilson and House.

She watched as the two friends gave each other a long, hard look.

"She's right," House broke the uneasy silence. "You should do this." He waited while Wilson forgave himself for his doubts. "Please."

Wilson scratched his head. House didn't say please. He rarely asked for help. He never admitted that anyone other than himself was right. Either House really was making progress or he desperately wanted the case. Or both.

"Do I get a panic button or something?" The question was Wilson's way of saying yes.

House pumped an arm in victory and Wilson rolled his eyes to the back of his head. The exchange made Cuddy feel a twinge of longing, remembering when almost every day had been like this; working, compromising, sparing with House and colluding with Wilson. She beat it back.

"I'm fresh out of panic buttons," Cuddy answered. "If you can't get a hold of me," she thought for a moment, "just trip him and tie him up in the janitor's closet until I get there." Twinge gone.

"Mature," House snarled playfully, waving his cane in her face.

"Trip him," Wilson repeated, looking as if he enjoyed the idea. "In that case, I guess I better go clear my schedule."

House wasn't sure he approved of Wilson's sudden enthusiasm. "Yes," he said over his shoulder as Wilson retreated. "It would be so hard to find you if you were needed, seeing as you'll be one door down!"

"See you upstairs, House," was Wilson's only reply.

And just like that, House and Cuddy had been left alone, something each had tried to avoid since House came back to the hospital. Both would have to admit to feeling like an idiot for avoiding the other person over a delusion, but it didn't make moments like this one any easier.

Cuddy noticed House still standing in front of her desk and stood up herself, hoping it would make her feel less like a girl in high school and more like the dean of medicine.

"You do realize that this in no way excuses you from clinic duty, physical therapy, or psychotherapy," she reminded him, skirting around the edge of her desk to rest in front of him.

"Wouldn't dream of it," he said in the flat tone she'd heard so many times before.

Cuddy wondered if House had become harder for her to read since he'd come back or if it was just the space they'd put between them. House wondered if Cuddy knew how difficult he found hiding anything from her, or how amazing he found her for it.

"Wilson mentioned you had a good session last week," she pushed him gently.

"Blabbermouth," House mumbled, though the way she was looking at him, he didn't care. He tried to shake her humanizing gaze. "My therapist thought it would be a good idea if we had a session together. Something about helping to work through unresolved issues, whatever that means."

House was trying to downplay his participation in what Cuddy thought an excellent step forward, and she told him so. "Well I think it's great. You're really working at this."

"I'm glad you think so," he said, now bashful, "because I'm supposed to ask if you might be willing to go up there with me sometime." He was stumbling over his words, obviously uncomfortable.

"Oh," Cuddy tried to hide her own discomfort.

"It doesn't have to be next week or anything," House backpedaled. "Just – I don't know. Unresolved issues or some psychobabble. Probably just an excuse to double bill."

"I'll think about it," Cuddy told him.

"Thanks." He was finally able to stop fidgeting.

"House," Cuddy placed a hand gingerly on his elbow, surprising both of them. He waited for her to withdraw the gesture and she considered it, but left it where it was. The touch was a relief to both of them.

Cuddy found the words she wanted to share. "I'm in your corner, House. And not just because I want this kid to live or would like to avoid another wasted day playing at university politics." She paused, trying to find a way to show support that House wouldn't find hypocritical.

House must have seen the struggle on her face because he actually managed a sincere, if small, smile.

"I know," he said softly.

She hadn't let him this close to her in months. He still found her intoxicating but he couldn't lose himself in it. He had to keep control. If he could show her he could keep control, solve a case without Foreman standing guard, get some semblance of his life before the hallucinations back, then maybe everything that did or didn't happen between them could mean something.

He drew away from her slowly.

"One more thing," Cuddy caught him before he could get very far. She quickly retrieved a specimen cup from her desk drawer and placed it in his hand.

House felt the intoxication slowly lifting. "Right."

Cuddy had started this random ritual as a condition of his probation. At least once a week, she would surprise him with the yellow capped cup and wait while he filled it in her office bathroom. That way she could be sure House wasn't augmenting his pain control regimen.

He limped towards the toilet. "I guess it's a good thing I got the blueberry muffin and not the poppy seed," he muffled a protest.

Cuddy stifled a chuckle. "You know the rules, House. You got to pee to play."

"Charming," House shouted through the door.

"And leave the seat down this time!" she called out in vain. "That would be charming!"

House did his duty and placed the cup on the side of the sink before washing his hands. With a twinkle in his eye and a sly grin on his lips, he exited, with the toilet seat up.


	2. The Boy King

House's step was lighter than it had been in ages as he exited the elevator and silently stalked towards his office. Inside, he could see Taub and Thirteen huddled around the table, Taub with a pen and Thirteen with the computer. Both had a stack of charts piled next to them on chairs.

"House," Thirteen looked up as he swung the glass doors open. "Nice to see you made it in before end of business."

Even her ironic grin could do nothing to dampen his spirit now.

"Did a filing cabinet explode?" he asked, making his way to the coffee pot.

"It's called charting, House," Taub was quick to answer. "We thought if we double teamed this backlog, we could finish in time to take tomorrow off, what with Foreman gone and all."

That was meant as a not so subtle stab to House's authority. "Oh, you," House looked at his fellow with strained regard.

Thirteen glanced over her shoulder at House. "If you wanted to translate some of this for us, we could all be out of here before five." She mocked him with her eyes, knowing he'd abandon them the instant he had inflicted his daily dose of torment.

"Can't," House answered, tossing a chart of his own into the middle of the table. "Oh, and neither can you. We have a case."

They stopped and looked at him with slightly amused sense of panic.

"You can thank me later," House announced.

It was Taub who spoke up first with his usual, gentle way of questioning the obvious elephant in the room. "Not to burst your bubble but don't we need Foreman here to actually do anything?"

House loved the smell of discomfort in the air. Craning his neck towards the glass wall, he took a step forward. "Funny," he said with a grimace. "I could have sworn my name was still on the door when I came in."

Thirteen stopped typing. "I think Taub is expressing his deep seeded fear of Cuddy kicking his ass."

"Duh," House stared at her. "What about you? Afraid of Cuddy kicking your ass or is this more of a loyalty to your one true love kind of thing?"

House thought he saw a brief glimpse of annoyance on her face. Interesting. Could the stereo-type defying couple of Foreman and Thirteen be on the rocks? He decided to put a bookmark in it for now and come back to it later, when he could get more amusement out of it.

Thirteen slumped in her chair, refusing to play House's game. "Fine," she said. "What's the case?"

Wilson slipped into the room, taking one of the few chairs not occupied with case files.

"Sorry," he apologized for holding up House's fun. "Don't mind me. I'm just observing." He waved a hand as if to clear the air.

"I give out points for participation, you know," House taunted.

"Wait," Taub interrupted. "So this is for real? House is in charge of cases again?" He was looking to Wilson for confirmation.

"It's true," Wilson told him. "The coming of the Messiah can't be far behind." He was glib.

A smirk crossed House's face.

Thirteen closed the laptop and retrieved the file House had put at the center of the table. Taub capped his pen and pushed aside a pile in front of him. House wheeled the white board into view.

Uncapping one of the dry erase markers, he inhaled deeply. "Ah, sweet markers. How I've missed directing your every move." Then in big block letters at the top of the board, he wrote the word alcohol.

"What's the differential for college kids acting stupid?" he turned to the room.

"Alcohol?" Taub answered.

"Don't cheat!" House spat back.

"This kid came into the ER with a blood alcohol of .26," Thirteen read from the chart. "If that's not stupid . . ."

"Yes, alcohol can make you stupid. It doesn't explain the kidney failure, however," House said, adding that to the board.

"Actually, it does," Taub spoke up.

"Only the first time," House instructed. "Kid had several rounds of dialysis. Doesn't explain why his kidneys aren't working now."

"The ER's tox screen came back clear," Thirteen said. "But that doesn't mean he hasn't done drugs. If he drinks to excess, maybe he took something else, something that damaged his kidneys before the alcohol poisoning."

"That's my skeptic," House said triumphantly, listing drugs out to the side with a question mark.

"Patient swears this was the first time he ever had alcohol," Wilson reminded House. "If he never drank before, good chance he never did drugs before either."

House looked at Wilson, disappointed. "I thought you were just observing."

Wilson shrugged. "No harm in having all the information."

"Sure, you say that now."

"Wait," Taub interrupted, having had a chance to look over the file. "This kid is underage. Of course he's going to lie about his drinking habits."

"Thank you," House nodded.

"So why does Wilson think he's telling the truth?" Thirteen asked the next logical question.

"Because Cameron believes he's telling the truth," House said, rolling his eyes. "And Wilson and Cameron need to believe what their patients tell them is the truth."

"Doctor Cameron brought you the case?" Thirteen looked up, eyes darting between House and Wilson. That meant that Cameron had known Foreman was out of town.

"She treated the guy when he first came in," Wilson told her.

House sighed loudly. "Does anyone else think we should figure this out before Qaiser's kidneys _and lungs_ fail?"

"Qaiser?" Taub searched for the patient's name. "He's Muslim?"

"It means king," House explained, drawing a little crown in the top corner of the board. "I assume his religion and yours can peacefully co-exist until we save his life?"

Taub let a fake smile cross his lips. "Wilson's Jewish, too."

"Wilson can pass for a Gentile. You, not so much," House retorted.

Taub sat back, unsure how he'd managed to fall into another of House's snares. "I asked if he was Muslim because they don't tend to drink."

"I know plenty of Muslims who drink," Thirteen countered.

"Thank you," House acknowledged her. "Now, tell me why this kid's kidneys are starting to fail again after a successful round of dialysis."

"Pre-existing infection," Thirteen called out. "His white blood cell count is elevated and he's got a fever."

"He was treated with antibiotics when he came in," Taub countered. "A pre-existing infection would likely have been cleared up, just like the aspiration pneumonia he was treated for."

"Which has mysteriously reappeared," Thirteen shot back, holding up the most recent chest x-ray.

"The fluid in his lungs is much more likely to be a result of the kidney failure than a disappearing then reappearing case of aspiration pneumonia," Taub stated.

"I agree," House said, listing pulmonary edema below kidney failure. "See if you can get him to cough up some sputum for a culture."

"What about a pre-existing chronic condition, one he didn't know he had?" Thirteen offered.

"Systemic Lupus causes kidney failure," Taub went straight for the obvious.

House put it on the board. "ANA to rule out Lupus."

"What about a kidney stone or gallstone?" Thirteen said. "If he's got a blockage, the urea in his system would build up and cause his lungs to begin filling with fluid."

"The guy has had virtually no urine output since he got here, despite all the IV fluids," Taub seemed to agree.

"CT the abdomen for stones," House instructed, listing another possibility.

Wilson cleared his throat, asking to be recognized.

"Is this an observation or are you participating?" House asked dryly.

"Both," Wilson responded. "We should test for multiple myeloma."

"Says the oncologist," House nodded. "Cancer is always a fun diagnosis." He wrote it on the board.

"Did anyone check his PSA?" Wilson continued.

"You think a nineteen year-old kid has prostate cancer?" Taub questioned.

"I think prostate cancer can cause kidney failure," Wilson answered.

House smiled at Wilson. "See. I told you this would be fun."

"No PSA level in his labs," Thirteen said after checking the chart.

"So let's get one," House said. "And redo the rest of the tests. No telling what the ER and ICU missed. And stick a needle in his back and get me a piece of his kidney. I want to check for Wegener's."

"Shouldn't we consider putting him back on dialysis before his lungs get worse?" Thirteen cautioned.

"Nope," House said quickly. "Put him back on it now and he'll never come off. Most of our diagnostic tests will be useless and whatever is causing the kidneys to fail will likely get worse." He paused and looked directly at Wilson. "Sound good to you?"

Wilson nodded. "No objections."

"Great," House said. "Then you can help Taub start the tests. Thirteen, you're with me."

"Hold on," Wilson stopped Taub and Thirteen in their tracks. He moved to board where House stood.

"I'm supposed to be observing you, remember?" Wilson whispered to House.

"Pretty sure they can hear you," House told him. "Right?" he asked loudly.

Taub and Thirteen stood nervously, their eyes betraying them.

"Listen," House explained to Wilson, "I'd love you to come along, really." Sarcasm appeared briefly. "But if I'm going to make it through the front door of whatever Eating Club conspired to corrupt our boy king, than I'm defiantly taking the bi-sexual babe. No offense to your assortment of sweater vests."

Wilson looked from House to Thirteen, then back to House. "None taken," Wilson relented. He'd have done the same in House's shoes.

"I'm sure they'll be plenty of field trips," House reassured him, slipping into his leather jacket. "Oh, and while you’re doing the medical stuff, see if one of you can get an actual history."

"Anything in particular you're looking for?" Wilson asked.

"Everything," House answered. "Where he sleeps, what he eats, who he's friends with. Who he's not friends with."

"If he drinks?" Taub got to the point.

House nodded. "That'd be good."

"One more thing," Wilson put out a hand to keep Thirteen from exiting. His tone was serious but his eyes danced. "If House does anything suspicious, you have my and Cuddy's permission to trip him."

"Suspicious?" She wanted more to go on than that.

"Trip him?" Taub seemed jealous.

Wilson grinned at her. "Just call me," he reassured her.

She gave Wilson a sly smile.

"I hope this ends up with me tied up," House's blue eyes flickered at Wilson as he brushed past him and out the door.

 

House sat in the cramped passenger seat of Thirteen's car, searching Prospect Avenue for the address listed on the ambulance's run sheet.

"Just because he was found on their lawn doesn't mean he was pledging their eating club," Thirteen said, pulling the car slowly to the curb.

"It narrows down the options," House told her, freeing himself of his seatbelt as the car came to a stop.

They both stepped out into the February damp, House zipping up his jacket, Thirteen pulling her coat closer around her. She looked up at the gray sky. It had been raining off and on for two days now, defying the weatherman's predictions of snow. She almost wished temperatures would drop and with it, a blanket of fluffy white powder. The gray New Jersey winter was depressing her.

"Is it always so bleak this time of year?" she wondered aloud, coming around the side of the car to the sidewalk.

This was the third personal moment House thought he'd observed in her in so many hours. Taking out the bookmark, he tested the waters. "You and Foreman having problems?"

She caught her outraged reply before it escaped. Whatever she and Foreman were or were not going through, House didn't need to know.

Turning to him with a pleasant smile, she said, "Everything's great. Thanks for asking."

A smirk appeared on House's face. Everything was not great, not with that plastered on smile. He allowed himself a long stare, hoping to unnerve her, before deciding to slip the bookmark back in and come back to it later.

"So," he asked instead, "which of these lovely dead lawns was our patient passed out on?"

"This one," Thirteen pointed to a patch of yellow beside a winding stone path. "But I don't think this is the eating club we want." She was quick and sure in her answer.

"Because?"

"Because it's not a pledge club," Thirteen informed him, looking at the neighboring houses.

Intrigued, House pushed her. "It's not?"

"No," she said. "There are ten so called 'Eating Clubs' at Princeton. Five of them are open to any upcoming Junior or Senior, basically like an open enrollment policy. The other five are more exclusive. They tend to be picky about their membership, making students go through an initiation process, like dangerous binge drinking."

She stopped cold. House was staring at her with the biggest smile she'd ever seen on his face.

"It is so cool that you know that," he genuinely complimented her.

"What?" Thirteen felt herself flush. "I have friends who went to Princeton."

The smile could not be wiped from his face.

"In case you're curious," she plowed ahead, "the house on the left does have a pledge club."

"Great," he managed to find some focus. "Lead the way."

She looked skeptical.

"Seriously," House told her. "I want the first thing they see when they open the door to be you. Should up our chances of getting inside."

Thirteen drew herself up. "Fine," she said her voice stronger.

She veered left and strode down the path leading to a large, brick covered mansion. House followed enthusiastically behind her, limping up the shallow steps. He nodded for her to knock on the solid wood door of the nineteenth century mansion.

It swung open a few moments later. A tall young man stood smiling in the entryway. "Hello," he said, looking Thirteen up and down. "What can I do for you?"

"I'm Doctor Hadley," she said with a convincing grin. "This is Doctor House," she pointed over her shoulder. "I was wondering if your president was around."

House had to admire her for getting into character. If he didn't know better, and the kid at the door certainly didn't, she would appear the innocent yet tempting morsel to anyone of the male persuasion. Foreman was an idiot if he'd screwed things up.

The young man swung the door wide open and gestured them inside just as the misty sky turned to drops of rain.

"Thanks," Thirteen said, gazing at the foyer of the large house.

"No problem," their eager escort replied. "Um, I'm not the president," he shifted awkwardly in place. "I'm Tom. I'm just a member. But Chad is in the great hall." He motioned around the corner behind him.

"Great," Thirteen thanked him, and she and House followed the eager-to-please Tom.

"There's a great hall?" Thirteen whispered to House.

"I thought you said you had friends that went to Princeton?" House whispered back.

"I did," she said but stopped short in her explanation as they entered the wood-paneled great hall with its grand archways and white pillars. The lead paned windows were larger than main the door they'd come through and an enormous fireplace crackled in the center of long room. "I just never made it off Prospect and into one of these . . ." she searched for the appropriate word.

"Castles?" House offered.

Thirteen nodded, the scope of the room and its architecture overwhelming her.

They followed Tom to a plush sofa in front of the fireplace, hanging back a few paces as they were announced to a tall, blonde haired, blue eyed co-ed in expensive jeans and a Princeton hoodie.

"He's a Ken doll," Thirteen observed, not impressed.

"Come on, Midge," House continued the pop-culture reference. "Go sweet talk your side-kick's boyfriend." And he gave her a slight nudge forward.

"Hello, I'm Chad Mathey," the Ken doll extended his hand. "Tom said you were looking for the president?"

"Yes," Thirteen shook his hand then remembered to smile. "I'm Doctor Hadley and this is Doctor House."

"You're a doctor?" Chad tried to sound impressed, ignoring House completely, which was just as House had hoped. While Thirteen smoothed the way for questioning, House took the opportunity to look around.

Students of various shapes and sizes were spread out with textbooks and laptops. A gaggle of girls was huddled in the corner around a long table making strings of paper hearts from red and pink construction paper. A couple cuddled in a love seat beneath one of the windows, sharing an MP3 player.

"Doctor House?" He was interrupted in his observations by the Ken doll.

"Just admiring the surroundings," House told him. "This is quite a place you got here."

"We like it," Chad said proudly. "Why don't you and Doctor Hadley follow me to the dining room where we can talk?"

Without waiting for discussion, the club's president marched off towards the back of the room, beckoning them to follow.

House caught up to Thirteen in the hallway. "Great Hall not cozy enough for conversation?" he remarked.

The dining hall seemed older somehow, its tables virtually empty in the afternoon light. They were led to one of the circular tables along the wall and sat, following the lead of the club's president.

"Doctor Hadley said you had some questions about last Saturday night," Chad spoke softly but confidently. "I assume this is about the student who passed out?"

"Did you know him?" House charged ahead with the first thing on his list.

"No," Chad shrugged. "Not personally."

"Then he wasn't one of your Bickers?" Thirteen asked.

Chad smiled at her. "You went to Princeton?" Most people who called it Bickers had.

"She had friends," House spoke for her.

"Oh," Chad said, deciding the older doctor might be in charge. "Uh, as far as I know, the kid who passed out wasn't one of our Bickers, no. Someone from the president's office asked us for an official list of all the names of students that were, though. I could get you a copy."

"Great," House told him, quickly moving on. "You were at the party Saturday night?"

The kid flashed his pearly whites. "Yes. I was one of the designated runners."

House looked at him curiously. "Is that like a track and field event for drunks?"

It elicited a small chuckle. "No. It's like a designated driver," he answered. "See, Princeton has a no keg policy on campus, so every February when Bickers rolls around, all of the Eating Clubs pitch in for cases of beer. We tend to run out, so each club designates someone to stay sober to make more runs."

"So you were sober Saturday night?" Thirteen asked him.

"I'm actually not much of a drinker," Chad said, obviously hoping to impress her. "I volunteered."

"Good for you," House tried to keep the sarcasm from his voice and failed. "You make a bigger profit as a dealer."

Chad seemed unfazed by the remark.

"It's not like that, really," he explained, conviction rising as he spoke. "Princeton doesn't even allow students to join until spring semester of their sophomore year, and we've made a lot of progress weeding out underage and binge drinking. We have student monitors who attend events and cut people off when they've had too much."

"Yes, lots of progress," House stopped Chad. "Until they miss one and he almost dies."

Chad appeared apologetic. "Sometimes it happens. It's horrible, but it happens. I'm sorry, but isn't the guy better? I mean, that's what we've heard from the university."

"He was," Thirteen told him. "The alcohol poisoning was resolved but his kidneys have begun to fail again."

House watched Chad's face for clues. Confusion turned quickly to understanding then morphed into uncertainty. Confusion House expected. Understanding House knew would follow. He expected puzzlement next or at least a return to confusion. But this look was defiantly not either. It was uncertainty and House sat perplexed as to why.

"I need to ask you if it's possible that anyone was using drugs that night," Thirteen continued. "And please, remember, were doctors, not cops. All we care about is helping our patient. Whatever the answer, the university will never know."

"I don't know," Chad proceeded carefully. "I mean, I don't think so. We haven't had many problems with it before, especially during Bickers. The university tends to keep a pretty good eye out during that time, you know?"

"Yeah," Thirteen gave him a small grin. "Qaiser was found on the lawn next door. Ever see him over there, maybe coming and going?"

"No," Chad answered. "You can ask around here if you want, but all the eating clubs were in on the party that night. He could have been with any of them or none of them. It's a good party."

"Any idea who made the 911 call?" House decided to ask.

"Sarah Mitchell," Chad answered quickly. "She's vice president across the street. I think she was the one who found him."

Something didn't add up. "You said it was a good party. Big turn out?" House prodded.

"Up and down the street," Chad answered.

"That is a good turn out," House admitted. "So, with all those people, and even assuming most of them were bombed, how is it that this kid was found face down in his own vomit by the girl across the street? I mean, it wasn't like there was the personal space to drink alone."

Chad was obviously uncomfortable. "I don't know. I wasn't here when he collapsed. I was – "he paused, looking guilty, "on another run. I got back and the ambulance was already here. I've asked around, but no one's quite sure if he was alone when he passed out or if people were just too drunk to do the smart thing and check him."

House nodded, not knowing if he believed everything he'd been told, but pretty sure he wouldn't be able to squeeze anymore out of the kid right now.

"Okay," he said, standing.

"Okay?" Chad repeated.

"Sure," House answered. "You can't control everything, right?"

The kid relaxed. "I wish I could help more."

Thirteen stood up. "The list of your Bickers?" she reminded the president.

"Right," Chad shot up from his chair. "One second."

He retreated around the corner, back towards the great hall. Thirteen followed him with her eyes, spotting several large crates of now empty beer bottles lined against the wall.

"Guess they recycle," she said, pointing out the empty bottles to House.

He stepped quietly around her, shrugging his pack from his shoulder. "Yuck," House voiced his disappointment. "They have a great hall but they skimp majorly on the beer? Even I wouldn't drink this stuff in college and I was poor."

Thirteen watched House bend over and place one of the bottles in a plastic bag.

"You really think you're going to find drugs laced on that one bottle?" she scoffed as he zipped it securely in his pack.

"Nope," he said, making his way back to her side. "But I have no idea what you're going to find." He looked at her with a wicked smirk.

"Right."

"Here's the list," Chad announced, rounding the corner back into the dining hall. He handed it to Thirteen with a hopeful smile. "I put my number on there, in case I can be of any more help."

She looked down at the paper and saw that he'd circled his name and number in the corner with the word president underlined twice. Trying not to laugh, she thanked him.

Chad led them to the door of mansion, wishing them luck.

"If you think of anything else, call the hospital," Thirteen asked him with one last girlish grin.

Nodding his agreement, he shut the door and left them on the front steps in the rain.

"That went well," House said, and Thirteen wasn't sure if he was being sarcastic or optimistic.

"Okay," she said, deciding to neither agree nor disagree. "Now what?"

House hobbled down the steps, pointing at the house across the street. "Let's see if our party-pooper, ambulance caller is home."

"Right," Thirteen said and followed House out into the rain.

 

It was dark when House and Thirteen returned to the hospital, rain soaked and grumpy from questioning oblivious students all afternoon. Taub was waiting for them in House's office when they arrived.

"Find anything interesting?" Taub asked as the two threw off their wet jackets.

House dropped into the chair behind his desk and raised his right leg, massaging his aching thigh. "I think that's my line," he informed Taub.

"Okay," Taub took the hint. "Uh, ANA and PSA are negative, abdominal CT didn't show any stones or other abnormalities, and it took three breathing treatments to get him to cough up enough sputum for a culture."

House reached into his pack and retrieved the bagged beer bottle. He tossed it to Taub. "See if you can find anything unusual in or on this while you wait for those colonies to grow." It would take several hours before the sputum cultures revealed anything relevant. "Where's Wilson?"

"In with the patient," Taub answered as he looked sourly at the empty bottle. "He's finishing up a bone marrow biopsy."

"Did you find elevated M proteins?" Thirteen asked, wondering why Wilson was putting the patient through a potentially unnecessary procedure for Myeloma if the lab results could give them their answer.

Wilson chose that moment to make his entrance. "M levels are inconclusive without a bone marrow biopsy," he explained, looking tired. "I wanted to get it over with while Qaiser can still cooperate."

"Did he tell you anything?" House asked, looking at both Wilson and Taub.

"He swears it was the first time he ever drank," Taub answered.

"And the last," Wilson added. "And not just because he ended up in the hospital. He can't stand the taste, apparently."

"He withstood it long enough to land in the ER," Thirteen commented.

"He doesn't remember much after the first few bottles," Taub said. "He agreed to some kind of drinking game to get into one of the eating clubs with a friend of his."

"Does this friend have a name?" House asked.

"Charlie," Taub told him.

"Does this friend have a last name?" House amended the question.

Taub looked down at the floor. "Not that he mentioned."

House threw his head back and stared at the ceiling. "What else?" he scowled.

"No drugs," Wilson continued.

"That he knows of," House countered.

Wilson went in a different direction this time. "He's a sophomore, an engineering student, good GPA, lives in Whitman Hall with a roommate, _not_ named Charlie. He's from Pakistan but he moved to Brooklyn when he was fifteen. Parents, two brothers and a sister. Dad's a UPS driver. Mom stays home with the kids."

House lifted his head, looking pleased. "Did you get a history from her?"

"I did," Taub stepped forward. "She says there's no history of autoimmune diseases in the family, and she was a nurse before they came to the States, so she probably knows what she's talking about."

He watched House's head go slowly back and forth between shoulders, lips pressed together, weighing the option that the mother actually might be informed enough to be right. He must have decided that she was, because he motioned for Taub to continue.

"Her father died of congestive heart failure in his late fifties, which isn't bad considering the level of care he had available. She thinks diabetes was probably a factor but it was never confirmed. Her mother is still alive, living in Lahore with her brother and his wife; nothing more than a little arthritis."

"And Dad's side?" House asked.

"Qaiser's grandfather was killed thirty years ago. Shot to death," Taub informed him. "His grandmother suffered from depression, probably linked to her husband's death. She died of an apparent stroke last year. Mrs. Zaheer is healthy, as are the kids. She says her husband could stand to lose a few pounds, but otherwise, nothing more than the normal aches and pains of getting older."

"Did they travel to visit family recently?" Thirteen asked.

Wilson shook his head. "They haven't been back since they moved to the U.S."

"Not really the best vacation spot at the moment," Taub treaded lightly.

House did not. "Wouldn't want to end up like Grandpa."

They all swallowed their distaste at House's comment.

"So," House said, swinging his leg down and his body up, moving into the adjoining room. "That takes care of Lupus." He crossed it off the list of possibilities. "And prostate cancer." He put a line through that too. "No kidney or gallstones on the CT." Away that went. He circled the question mark next to the word drugs. "Still don't know about the drugs, waiting on the pneumonia culture and bone marrow biopsy results. What about Wegener's?"

"I just sucked marrow from his hip, House," Wilson reminded him. "I thought we'd give him a little time to recover before sticking another needle in his kidney."

"Right, because it's his marrow that's obviously failing," House raised his voice, annoyed.

"The ANCA results won't be back until morning, House," Wilson cautioned, hoping to convince him to wait for the blood test before administering another invasive procedure.

"ANCA levels are almost always diagnostically irrelevant!" House shouted back. Then lowering his head, he took a deep breath and spoke more softly. "The only way to conclusively rule out Wegener's Granulotosis is by looking at a slice of the kidneys under a microscope."

Wilson considered House's argument carefully. "Okay. I might have been eager to get the bone marrow biopsy," he admitted. "I'm an oncologist. I frame problems differently. If you think he's stable enough for the kidney biopsy, I'll do it myself."

House nodded, his way of accepting Wilson's apology. "Good. But I'm doing the biopsy."

Everyone in the room froze.

"Uh, when was the last time you did a kidney biopsy?" Taub asked.

House began to limp back to his desk. "I'm a nephrologist," he reminded them. "You think I can't find the kid's kidney?"

Taub quickly volunteered to help.

"Nope," House refused the request. "I need you in the lab with that bottle," House told him. "Thirteen can assist."

Thirteen seemed surprised. She'd already spent the entire afternoon with House. Why was he asking for her again?

House, seeing the fleeting panic cross her face, explained. "It's time for Wilson to make his report to Cuddy. If she wants to berate me, I'll be in the locker room taking a shower for the next fifteen minutes," he said, pulling a set of clean and dry clothes from under the desk. "Thirteen, too, I imagine," he leered at her.

"Is it the rain or the stink of high society and cheap beer you're trying to wash away?" Wilson said with a small laugh.

"Uh huh," was all House answered.

 

Wilson sat across from Cuddy in her office, summing up the day's events.

"You set him lose on campus?" Cuddy said in a low staccato.

Wilson was quick to answer her. "Thirteen went with him."

"Thirteen went with him?" she repeated, apparently not appeased by his answer.

Wilson smiled softly. "I gave her full permission to trip him and tie him up if he stepped over the line. He came back without any rope burns, so I'm assuming he didn't make a complete ass out of himself in front of the various eating clubs of Princeton."

Cuddy sighed, the angles of her face softening as she decided that House wasn't likely to cause her a PR problem with the kids who were already in trouble with the powers that be.

"So what's next?" she asked, a nagging sense of urgency audible in her tone and visible in her posture.

"House is going to do a kidney biopsy to rule out Wegener's and we'll see what the other test results show by morning," he assured her.

"When do we put him back on dialysis?"

Wilson was sure to be calm and methodical in his answer. "The kid still has some good kidney function left. We can wait maybe another twenty-four hours before we risk permanent damage."

She exhaled loudly, mumbling something that Wilson couldn't make out.

"Sorry?" he asked her to say it again.

"Why am I such a damn basket case?" she managed to get out while pushing back tears. "It's a sick kid. We have lots of sick kids here."

Wilson looked knowingly at her. "But only one being treated by House," he said.

"So what?" she almost laughed as she said it. It was better than choking on her own tears. "House has had hundreds of cases before, most of them much more serious than this is likely to be. And this time he's actually sober." That she did laugh at. "And supposedly sane."

Wilson leaned forward and reached out a hand to squeeze hers.

"The case is going well so why am I such a wreck?" she pleaded with him for an answer.

Wilson started out gently. "Maybe because it is going well. Usually, by this point in one of House's cases, you've already fought with him twice, gone behind his back to prevent a lawsuit, and negotiated for at least one less crazy possibility in the diagnoses." He stopped and waited for her reaction to know what his next words should be.

Cuddy stared at him anxiously.

"It seems too good to be true," Wilson dove in. "If House can handle a case like this and do it well, maybe he can run his department again. And then things are back to the way they were before, without all the reasons to not be together."

Cuddy sniffled. "Not _all_ the reasons."

"Fine," he said, handing her a tissue. "But the big ones, those giant red flags that had you both running for the door any time you two got close? You'd have to find other ones to replace them."

Cuddy sat silently for a moment, composing herself. "I know you care about House and I know you care about me. But, Wilson, I don't even know if I'm what he wants now, much less if he's what I would want."

At that, Wilson began to chuckle.

"What?" Cuddy demanded to know what he found so funny. She was pouring her heart out and he was mocking her? That wasn't like Wilson.

"Sorry," he said through his laughter. "It's just, if either of you knew how ridiculous you both sound . . ." and he trailed off into more laughter.

She sat back in her chair and moped. "I'm glad you find this so amusing."

"Amusing?" Wilson questioned, letting the laughter fade into a friendly smile. "Trust me when I say that the amusing stage has long since passed. Never in my life have I seen two people more determined to ignore the obvious."

Cuddy was going to respond but Wilson didn't let her. He got up and strode for the door, looking over his shoulder once to say, "I'll let you know what the tests show."

She sat stunned and suddenly speechless but no longer tied in knots.

 

Thirteen was waiting at the Nurse's station outside the patient's ICU room for House to appear. She'd showered quickly and changed into a pair of white surgical scrubs that weren't damp from splashing through puddles along Prospect Avenue.

She was half hidden behind a portable ultrasound when House rounded the corner, now dry himself and in a matching pair of scrubs that let a bright red Van Halen concert tee bleed through. He strode forward with his cane, passing her on the way down the hall. Soon he could hear the wheels of the ultrasound cart at his heels.

"What did Foreman say when you told him he didn't need to hurry back?" House asked, not looking at her.

"Nothing, since I haven't spoken to him today," she said without missing a beat.

"Really? I thought I'd given you plenty of time to sneak in a quick call, let him know that the King was back in the building." House stopped just outside the room and stared directly at her, mischief dancing across his face. "And by King, I don't mean our Arab co-ed in there." He gestured towards the patient.

Thirteen rose up to her full height. "Sorry. I took a long shower. A very long, very hot, very steamy shower," she accented each adjective with a sultry note.

House stood still, imagining for a moment that he'd had a view of that shower. Then breathing out through his mouth he said, "Thank you for that image. Now I need a _cold_ one."

House pushed open the glass door and stepped inside the room, holding the door as Thirteen guided the portable ultrasound through. Their patient was resting on his side, presumably the one that Wilson hadn't dug a needle into an hour earlier. He raised his head at the commotion, his dark hair matted, a normally neatly trimmed goatee a bit scruffy, his olive skin pale and eyes sunken and tired.

"Hi," House said, approaching the bed. "I'm Doctor House."

"You're the doctor in charge of my case," the young man acknowledged. "Doctor Wilson and Doctor Taub mentioned you." His voice was quiet and strained.

"Did they mention her?" House asked, pointing at Thirteen.

The patient nodded. "Doctor Hadley."

Thirteen looked up from plugging the ultrasound into the wall and smiled. "You're good with names," she said.

"Yeah, yeah," House dismissed her. "Here's the real question; do you remember your own name?"

"Qaiser Zaheer," he answered, beginning to cough.

House reached for the medicated breathing treatment on the bedside table and gave it to him, watching him inhale several long, difficult, breaths.

"Amazing," House murmured, more to himself than anyone. "Drink enough to rot your brain and it's fine but everything else is going down the toilet."

"Is it cancer?" Qaiser asked, regaining some strength.

"Nope," House told him, reaching for the gloves in the box above the bed.

Thirteen gave House a cross look.

"We won't know for sure until the test results come back in the morning," she informed Qaiser.

"But you don't think its cancer?" Qaiser looked to House.

House was busy snapping on his gloves, one noisy finger at a time.

"I need you to turn onto your stomach," House instructed.

"Here," Thirteen handed him a pillow as she helped him to turn over. "Hug this against your chest. A little lower," she tried to help get the pillow under his rib cage.

"Sorry, I'm still sore from the bone marrow test," he told her, trying his best to follow instructions. "What test are you doing now?"

House pulled back the gown from over Qaiser's lower back. "Kidney biopsy," House explained, taking a tube of conductive jelly from Thirteen.

"For cancer?"

"No," House rolled his eyes. "The cancer guy has come and gone. Get used it. I'm the kidney guy."

He squirted some of the jelly onto the back, and Qaiser's body tightened from the cold.

"Sorry," House said after the fact. "That might be a little cold." Thirteen handed him the ultrasound wand and he pulled the stool he was sitting on closer to his patient. "Actually," House elaborated, "I'm more of the big picture guy, though kidneys really do get me excited." His voice was taking on a maniacal tone. "You should feel lucky. Our brain guy is out of town."

"House!" Thirteen stopped him curtly, seeing the tension building in the patient's face as well as his pulse. "He's got lung problems, too. You want to stop the mad scientist routine before you send him into cardiac arrest?"

House leaned up to meet the patient's eyes. "She's just pissy because she and the brain guy are going through a rough patch," he said out of the corner his mouth then returned to hover over the back.

Thirteen shook her head, irritated. She wouldn't go there with House, especially not in front of a patient, so she flipped the switch for the monitor and settled in for the long haul.

"Doctor House is going to do an ultrasound to find one of your kidneys," she explained to Qaiser as House moved the wand along the back. "See," she pointed to the monitor. "Those are your internal organs."

"Cool," Qaiser said, staring up at the black and white images on the screen.

"Very cool," House said, moving the probe around.

"I was told your name meant King," Thirteen said as House hunted for the perfect spot.

The patient nodded. "Yeah. But I don't feel like much of a king lately. More like a stupid boy."

"That tends to happen when you drink your weight in alcohol," House said, pausing his search. "Hand me a swab."

Thirteen reached inside a nearby tray, handing House a large cotton ball soaked in rubbing alcohol. He traced it slowly over a spot just below where the wand rested.

"You don't believe me either, do you?" Qaiser directed the question at House.

"That this was the first time you'd had a drink?" House said, tossing the cotton ball into a hazardous waste bin nearby. "I seriously doubt it. Though I've got to say, if it was this was your first experience with alcohol, you might want to reconsider your abstinence only policy. I saw the cheap swill they had."

"After you’re better, of course," Thirteen quickly added. "And in moderation."

"Of course," House said, innocently, taking a small syringe from Thirteen. "You're going to feel a small prick."

"We're giving you some Lidocane to numb the area," Thirteen explained as House plunged the anesthetic under the skin.

Qaiser winced as the medication went in. "I could never drink again," Qaiser said when House had removed the needle. "Just the idea of the smell," he shook his head with disgust. "Drinking it was like drinking from an animal's ass."

House's ears perked up at that statement. "I'm dying to know how you know what ass tastes like," he said, sharing a curious look with Thirteen.

"I don't," Qaiser told them. "But when I was a boy, in Lahore, my grandmother had a goat, and whenever we were at her house, she would have me milk it. It was a nasty goat, always squirming and fighting me. She would back up, right into my face and try to sit on it," Qaiser lifted an arm and pantomimed the goat with his palm, pushing on his nose. "The alcohol tasted like that goat smelled."

Both House and Thirteen scrunched up their faces in disgust.

"All these years of carefully researched drug and alcohol prevention programs and all they really needed was a field trip to the petting zoo," House said, making Thirteen stifle her gag reflex.

Qaiser nodded, tucking his arm underneath him and the pillow once again. "Will I need a kidney transplant?" he asked thoughtfully.

"That depends on what we find," House answered. "I'm going to stick a needle in right above where you felt the last prick and suck out some of the tissue. We'll take a look at it under a microscope and hopefully, you'll get to keep them both."

Thirteen handed House a swab coated with Betadine and he went about disinfecting the area. The long, thick needle that would retrieve the kidney samples was next.

"Okay Qaiser," Thirteen instructed. "Doctor House is about to put a large needle into your back to get a piece of your kidney. It's a lot like the bone marrow aspiration you had earlier, so when I tell you to, I need you to take a deep breath and hold it. Don't let it out until I tell you to, okay?"

House eyed where the Betadine and alcohol had mixed and nodded to Thirteen.

"Deep breath, Qaiser," she said, and he inhaled as much as he could.

House plunged forward, breaking the skin and feeling for the resistance of the kidney.

Thirteen tried to keep their patient calm. "I know it's painful. Just hang in there."

House guided the needle expertly, reaching his target. "Keep as still as you can," he said, pulling back gently on the syringe. It moved slowly, hardly at all it seemed, but a few moments later an aspirated slice of Qaiser's kidney rested delicately in the vacuum tube.

House slid the needle out carefully.

"Okay, you can breathe now," Thirteen instructed and Qaiser swallowed in air greedily, causing another round of coughing. She reached for the nebulizer. "Breath this in, Qaiser," she told him, forcing the medicated mixture into his lungs.

House set the tube aside and gestured for another which Thirteen handed to him.

"Again?" Qaiser asked, breathing more easily now.

"Sorry," House said in his usual monotone. "Got have at least two good slices."

While Qaiser caught his breath, House checked the position once more with the ultrasound then wiped another layer of the orange and brown disinfectant on the skin. He angled the needle slightly downward this time.

"Can you hold your breath one more time?" Thirteen asked, taking the nebulizer from their patient.

He nodded.

"Take a breath and hold it," she told him, and he complied.

House dug in once again. "You're going to feel a little pressure," he informed Qaiser as he pushed the needle just slightly further into the kidney. Sure enough, Qaiser had to keep himself from jumping up off the bed. But House was patient and waited until he was still enough to retrieve the second sample.

"There. Good." House began to pull back and the tissue came into the new vaccutanor. He slipped the biopsy needle out gently.

"You can breathe now, Qaiser. Good job," Thirteen consoled and complimented the teen as he relaxed and tried to breathe in more slowly this time.

"Samples look good," House announced.

Thirteen grabbed a couple of alcohol wipes and cleaned the Betadine stain from Qaiser's back.

"I'm cold," Qaiser told her, a chill running up his spine.

"Sorry," she apologized absently, folding his gown back over and lifting the blankets to better cover him. "You can turn back over if you like, but you'll be sore for a while."

Qaiser slowly turned back onto his one good side.

House stood, looking at the urine bag attached to his patient's catheter. He double checked the chart, frowning. "You always pee this little?" he asked.

"I don't know," Qaiser answered. "I haven't had a lot to drink besides water."

"You've had enough IV fluids to fill a race horse," House declared.

Qaiser stared at him, oblivious to the colloquialism.

"Sorry, wrong language. You've had a lot through your IVs," he tried again. "Draw another set of labs and schedule a MRI for his chest first thing in the morning. And tell the nurses to keep an eye on his urine output," he told Thirteen.

"How about something for the pain?" Thirteen asked.

"Tylenol," House answered.

She came around the other side of the bed to stand next to House.

"I was thinking more like Demerol," she said quietly.

House scratched his head. "Low dose," he consented. "And only as long as his BP stays up and heart rate is stable."

"Absolutely," she said, and gave him a smile.

"You may not like alcohol," House leaned back for a clear shot at Qaiser, "but you're gonna _love_ the stuff she gives you. Trust me." He winked then said to Thirteen, "Order the tests, dope the kid and get back down to the lab in thirty minutes. Is that enough time for you to call Foreman?"

She smiled again, and leaned in further. "Make it forty-five minutes. I hate to rush phone sex."

House stared at her through narrow eyes. "Right. See you in fifteen then."

 

After dropping off the kidney specimens with Taub, House had gone from the lab to his office, only to find it empty. Continuing down the hall, he found Wilson lounging on the couch in his office with the newspaper.

"How's Cuddy?" he asked, settling into a chair opposite him.

"Worried," Wilson answered, turning the fold over.

House looked disappointed. "That's it? Worried?"

"Maybe a little anxious," Wilson offered.

"Cuddy is always worried and anxious, especially when my case could impact the hospital's image," he said, rocking his cane back and forth.

"She's not worried about the case, House," Wilson looked up at him as if he were the most dense objet in the universe. "She's worried about you."

House's cane came to a rest. He twisted his face trying to decipher what Wilson had just told him.

Wilson finally grew annoyed and sat the paper down. "You, House. You, the man. Not you in charge of a case, not you ruining the hospital's image, or even her image, for that matter. She's just worried about you."

"Huh," House responded, making Wilson turn back to his paper in disgust. Then after a moment, he asked, "Why?"

"Seriously?" Wilson asked, tossing the paper to the floor and bolting into an upright position. He stared at House, irritated and tired. "Have you even talked to her since you came back?"

"Almost every day," House said, avoiding answering the real question.

"Not about work," Wilson shook his head. "About how you feel about her. Have you talked to Cuddy about that?"

House sighed. "I'd have to know how I felt about her in order to do that, wouldn't I."

"Oh, please." Wilson was bordering on disgusted. "You hallucinated an entire night with her starring as the hero! She got you clean then she got you off. This was a very vivid delusion, House. So vivid that you were sure enough to convince me that it had happened."

House squirmed uncomfortably in his chair. "I know that," he said, still remembering what it felt like to have his heart drop out from under him the way it had when he'd realized the entire experience had been a fantasy. "So does she."

"Really? You two have talked in detail about how you imagined her with you in bed? About how you wanted to be with her so badly you were ready to call a piano mover?"

House seemed small to Wilson now.

"Not exactly," he admitted. "She knows what I hallucinated, just not the intricate details. I don't think she wants to know," House said sadly.

"I didn't ask you if Cuddy wanted to know," Wilson said, softening his tone. "I asked if you'd told her."

"Why would I tell her if she didn't want to know?"

"Because it happened, House. It's in the back of your head every time you see her and it's driving you crazy that you actually felt something for her and she wasn't a real part of it." Wilson stopped to catch his breath. "You know how you feel. What you don't know is how she feels. God forbid you actually make yourself vulnerable to her."

House sat silently for a minute trying to think of a witty retort but none came to him. He was walking a fine line of vulnerability these days, between his recovery, trying to have a life, and still dealing with the nasty remnants left behind from the old one. He wasn't sure how they all fit together just yet. It had just occurred to him that others might feel the same way. It had yet to occur to him that others, like Cuddy, may not be able to put the pieces together without some assistance from him.

Wilson knew, however. He'd figured it out a long time ago. Now he was waiting for his friend to catch up.

"I asked her to come to a therapy session with me."

Wilson was startled by the way House broke the silence.

"She said she needed to think about it," House shared.

Wilson felt a lump in his throat. He was proud of House for asking her and proud of the way he was handling her uncertainty. "That's good," he managed to say. A kind-hearted smile crept over his lips. "That's really good, House."

"Yeah," House said, back to rocking his cane again. "Don't get your hopes up. She could easily say to hell with it."

Wilson smiled wider. "I doubt that," he said sincerely.

House felt the vibration of his phone before the ringtone sounded. Pulling it from the pocket of his scrubs, he held it up and read the short message on the display.

"Taub," House informed Wilson. "Says the biopsy results are almost ready."

They both stood and walked slowly out into the hall.

"Why do my lab results always take forever and yours appear in a matter of hours?" Wilson did his best to complain as they made their way to the elevators.

"You need underlings," House told him.

"I don't have a budget for underlings, or fellows," Wilson responded. "Guess I'll have to use yours."

House felt a grin coming on. "I rent them by the hour, you know."

Wilson chuckled and so did House.

 

Both Taub and Thirteen were waiting when House and Wilson made it to the lab. Taub spoke first.

"I analyzed your empty beer bottle." He held it up. "Nothing unusual. No drugs. Just stale beer."

House had expected that.

"How's the sputum culture?" Wilson asked.

"Still cooking," Thirteen told him. "So far it seems clear of bacterial pneumonia."

"Interesting," House said.

"Elevated white count, fever, fluid in the lungs," Wilson added up symptoms. "Maybe the pneumonia is viral?"

"A virus doesn't explain both the lung and kidney failure," House declared.

Taub finished preparing the tissue House had taken from Qaiser's kidney. Placing the slide under the lens of the microscope, he focused at each increase in magnification. He used a dropper to coat the slide with a bit of oil before increasing the magnification further, then peered inside, adjusting the light and focus once again. When he was satisfied, he looked up and typed in the command that would allow the rest of the room to see what he was seeing on the computer's screen.

"Sorry, House," Taub said. "No atypical clumps of white cells."

"Guess that rules out Wegener's," Thirteen decided.

House shook his head. "Stick the other slice under there," he ordered, gesturing to the microscope.

Taub repeated the procedure with the second slide. When the image appeared on the screen, it was virtually identical to the first.

"Damn," House swore. Wegener's wasn't a pleasant diagnosis but it was manageable and it had seemed to fit the symptoms. Now he needed to rethink everything.

"Now what?" Taub asked. "Hope this kid has cancer?"

"Sleep," House said. "I need to think."

"His chest MRI is scheduled for six," Thirteen told them. "He should sleep pretty well until then."

House nodded. "Call me with the results. Wilson," he turned to his friend. "Pick me up at eight. It's time you and I went on our own field trip."


	3. Two by Two

Rain still drizzled from the overcast sky early the next morning.

Wilson handed House his own cup of coffee as he slid into the passenger seat of the car, sipping the hot liquid from the rim of his travel mug to stave off the chill.

"Thanks Honey," House said appreciatively, taking a long gulp.

"You're welcome, Baby Cakes," Wilson deflected, pulling into traffic. "By the way, I called ahead and arranged for Qaiser's RA to open the room."

House rolled his eyes. "Great. Now the kid's roommate will have had time to hide anything worth finding."

"I doubt it," Wilson replied, turning towards Princeton's main campus. "The roommate had a seven-thirty class."

"The last time I had a seven-thirty class, I slept with the TA for test notes," House bragged. "And slept through every class like a baby."

"So did I," Wilson said, watching House for a reaction.

"You slept with the TA?" House asked his eyes wide.

"No. But I did sleep through every class."

"Hah," House wasn't amused. "Testing the theory of learning through osmosis?"

"Something like that," Wilson said with a grin.

They travelled the next ten minutes in relative silence, coming to a stop just outside a towering gray brick building with gothic architecture.

"Here," House handed Wilson his handicapped placard. "Use this."

Wilson surveyed the parking situation and the raindrops and didn't hesitate. He took the spot nearest the entrance and hung the placard from the rear view mirror. They made for the door as fast as House's cane would travel.

Shaking the cold and wet from their coats, they asked a passing student for directions to the elevator. After a quick ride, they stepped out onto the fourth floor looking left and right for the direction they should take.

"The RA is in 420," Wilson said, pointing left and down the hall. "Numbers are higher the other way."

House nodded and followed Wilson down the corridor.

"Why weren't dorms co-ed when we were in college?" House asked eyeing a redhead wrapped in short terrycloth robe.

"Didn't keep you from sleeping with the TA," Wilson responded, trying not to stare at the same redhead.

Shortly they found themselves outside room 420. Wilson knocked and a guy with a curly brown ponytail answered the door.

"Aaron Downing?" Wilson asked.

"That's me," was the answer. "You the doctor I spoke to on the phone earlier?"

"Yes," Wilson nodded. "I'm Doctor Wilson and this is Doctor House."

"Good to meet you," the RA said. "Let me grab the key." He disappeared a moment and returned with a large master key on a chain. "412 is this way," he said, squeezing past House and down the hall.

"Sorry if I woke you," Wilson made conversation as Aaron fiddled with the lock on their patient's door.

"No problem," he said calmly. "My first class doesn't start until ten on Fridays."

House grinned, a glint in his blue eyes. "Smart kid," House praised him.

Aaron smiled back and opened the door, gesturing for the two doctors to enter first.

Stepping inside, House did a quick inventory. Two beds, two built in closets with drawers, two desks and two chairs. The bedding on both twins was neutral; both desks had nondescript lamps and identical alarm clocks. The window had standard issue blinds framed by the one bright spot of color in the room; curtains, obviously homemade, with intricate gold embroidery against orange and purple silk.

"Which bed is Qaiser's?" House asked the RA.

"That one," Aaron pointed to the one furthest from the window.

Wilson bent over and peaked under the bed. Not even a dust bunny. "I've never seen a dorm room this clean," he remarked.

"Yeah," Aaron seemed to take it as a symbol of pride that he had the neatest tenants in the hall.

House, meanwhile, searched through the closet for anything unusual. Jeans, polos, sweaters, sox, a plastic crate with a handle filled with basic hygiene supplies. "Do you know which bathroom Qaiser used?"

"Uh, nearest guy's facility is across the hall and down about three doors," Aaron speculated.

Wilson sat in front of Qaiser's laptop which lay idle on the small desk. An anthology of English literature, a trigonometry book, and a copy of the Koran sat beside it. He picked up the decorated book and held it up for House to see.

House took it from Wilson's hands. "How well do you know Qaiser and," he had no idea what the roommate's name was, "the other guy?"

"Ahmed?"

"Sure," House conceded, moving to look through the other closet.

"They're clean, quiet, seem like nice guys," Aaron said. "Qaiser is some kind of architect or engineering major. Ahmed does biology, I think. They roomed together last semester too."

Wilson had managed to get into Qaiser's email account. "Mostly just emails to his parents," Wilson said. "Did they have many visitors?"

"Sometimes a few other kids from the Mosque, always guys, no girls," Aaron answered. "Maybe a study or lab partner."

"Anyone named Charlie?" Wilson asked, remembering the name from the previous evening.

Aaron shrugged. "They don't exactly sign in."

Wilson took that as a no.

House found nothing of interest in the roommate's closet either. "Anyone have a problem with them being Muslim?" he asked, grasping at straws.

The RA laughed. "You're kidding right? Muslim, Hindu, Jew, Catholic," he listed. "You name it, we got it. Nobody seems to mind."

House sat on the edge of Qaiser's bed. Giving it a bounce, he noticed a thick piece of intricately woven cloth that had slipped between the bed and the wall. Reaching over, he retrieved a prayer rug. He began to scan the room for one that belonged to the roommate.

"Is Qaiser very religious?" House asked, poking around the room.

"Yeah, I think so," the RA said. "Ahmed is for sure. I was seriously surprised when I found out that Qaiser was in the hospital for alcohol poisoning. He didn't really seem like the Bickers type."

"House, what are you looking for?" Wilson asked, closing the laptop.

"Ahmed's prayer rug," House told him.

Aaron perked up. "He usually takes it with him Fridays."

House's phone began to ring. "Friday prayers?" he asked, grabbing for his phone.

"Yeah," Aaron nodded. "There's a flyer." He pointed towards the hallway and stepped outside the room to retrieve it.

House answered, putting the phone on speaker so Wilson could hear as well. "It takes you three hours to get an MRI of his chest?" he began the day's berating.

"And a good morning to you, too," came Taub's voice. "Is Wilson with you?"

"I'm here," he spoke up.

Taub continued. "Bone marrow biopsy came back negative for Multiple Myeloma."

"Wilson, you're 0 for 2," House said.

"The sputum culture is still growing but so far there doesn't appear to be enough bacteria in his lungs to diagnose pneumonia, aspirated or not," Taub reported. "Looks like Cameron's Clindomycin cleared it up pretty quickly."

"We should start him on broad spectrum antibiotics." It was Thirteen's turn to speak up.

"Right," House said sarcastically. "Because this guy's kidneys handled the first round so well."

"The chest MRI showed more fluid building in his lungs," Thirteen pleaded her case. "His morning labs show BUN and Creatine levels tanking fast. His kidneys may have another day but if the pressure keeps building in his lungs he'll die from congestive heart failure first."

House looked at Wilson, scratching his forehead. "Up his Lasix," he told them.

"Already did," they heard Taub answer. "We're also running tests for E. coli and Salmonella."

"He had some blood in his stool this morning," Thirteen elaborated.

House stared at his phone with contempt. "You think he came in with E. coli and took almost week to present?"

"We've been concentrating on his kidneys, House," Thirteen said. "We could have missed the symptoms."

"Yeah, yeah," House moved them along. "Hold on."

The RA had come back into the room holding a sheet of yellow copy paper.

"Does Qaiser eat in the dining hall here?" House asked him.

"Sure," Aaron answered. "I see him most nights."

"Anyone around here sick to their stomach the last week?"

The kid thought a moment. "No. There was a twenty-four hour bug going around a couple of weeks ago, but I haven't heard of anyone with food poisoning."

"Thank you," House told him. He turned back to the phone. "Any of you guys sick?" he asked Taub and Thirteen. "We've all eaten the hospital's food. I'm not pooping blood. How about you Wilson?"

"No," Wilson answered as quickly as possible, giving the RA an apologetic smile.

"It can't hurt to check," Taub said, defeat edging into his voice.

"Fine," House told them. "Run it. Wilson and I will be in shortly." He picked up the phone and ended the call.

The RA stepped forward and handed the yellow flyer from the hall to Wilson.

"Friday prayers, Juma," he pointed to the announcement, "start at noon in the Student Center. Ahmed will be there. If you want to know anything about Qaiser and Bickers, he's the one you should talk to."

"Thanks," Wilson said, taking the flyer from him.

"Here," Aaron handed House a black and white photo from the student directory. "That's Ahmed. I think he goes early to help organize things."

House nodded and handed the photo to Wilson. "Thank you."

"Anything else I can help you guys with?" the RA asked, looking nervously at the clock.

"Just need to check out the bathroom," House said.

Aaron looked at House, confused and a bit concerned.

"For mold and stuff," House explained with a roll of the eyes.

 

Taub and Thirteen had crossed Wegener's and cancer off of the white board and added a circle and question mark around pneumonia. E. coli was now listed as a possible culprit.

"I see you've been playing with the markers again," House's sarcastic wit entered the room as loudly as he did, shrugging off his backpack and coat, his cane preceding each step with a muffled thud. He looked anxiously from his fellows, to the board, and back again.

"Huh," Wilson remarked as he strode in from his office next door. "If you cross something off the list, don't you need to add something to replace it? Unless he's cured." Wilson was being intentionally glib.

"Thank you," House nodded to Wilson. "We need more ideas." He stepped around the table, passing Taub on the way to the sink. He snatched the dry erase marker from his hand as he went by and Taub grimaced.

"So you didn't find anything in his dorm room?" Thirteen asked, looking more tired than she should after a night's rest. House wondered if she'd gone home at all.

"Unfortunately, no," Wilson said, disappointed at being disappointed.

House rinsed out a mug and poured in coffee. "No alcohol hidden in the back of the closet, no marijuana rolled up with the socks, not even a prescription from Daddy's medicine cabinet for sleeping pills."

Wilson took on a capricious tone. "House thought he might be on to something of the mold variety when we checked out the bathrooms. Alas, it was only crusty hair gel."

"Like I said," House continued, "we need new ideas."

"White count is elevated but not from aspiration pneumonia," Taub said. "What if it's viral?"

"The pneumonia?" House clarified. "Or whatever is causing his kidneys to fail? I'm cool with either one."

"The fluid in his lungs could be what's causing the kidney failure," Taub stated plainly. "The kid was outside in the cold and snow for hours. He could have easily caught viral pneumonia. The timeline fits."

"Except the kidneys went wacko before the lungs," House reminded him not so gently.

"Maybe not. Maybe we just noticed the kidneys first because that's what we were looking at for signs of damage from the alcohol poisoning," Thirteen reasoned.

House looked at them, mischief in his eyes. "You two have been working on this all morning, haven't you?"

There was silence for a moment and then Taub spoke. "You were the one who wanted more ideas."

"Fine," House said. "See if he'll give you another sputum sample."

"What about Fabry disease?" Wilson said somewhat reluctantly. "He's away from home, eating like a college kid eats. Maybe the fats finally got to him."

"Fabry disease usually doesn't take twenty years to present," Taub told him.

"No purple blemishes on the skin, either," Thirteen added. "But we could run a test for the genetic marker and check for cloudiness in corneas."

"Do it," House said, adding it to the list of possibilities.

"I know you think E. coli is a red herring," Thirteen proceeded lightly, "but what if it's related to Hemolytic Uremia? HUS or TTP would cause the blood to clot abnormally in the renal capillaries causing the kidney failure. E. coli or the pneumonia could have triggered either."

House nodded. "Anybody besides a computer look at his red blood cells recently?" He took the silence as a no. "Okay, then let's do that too. And check for muscle enzymes and elevated myoglobin in his blood while you're at it." He added Rhabdomyolysis to the board.

"He has been achier today," Thirteen said, knowing the two could be connected.

"One more thing," House said, lifting his eyes to survey them all. "I need two of you to intercept Qaiser's roommate-"

He was cut off by the clicking of two inch heels. House managed a groan before she could say his name.

"House!"

It was Cuddy. Not loud, just mildly infuriated and absolutely demanding. He tried to hide a smile at the way she flushed.

"Dr. Cuddy," he said to her, pleasant enough.

She looked at the gathered crowd and pointed to his private office, stepping quickly through the adjoining door.

"What did you do?" Wilson whispered as House passed by him.

"I have no idea," he said, the curious feeling of being, for once, oblivious making its way through his body. It was an odd yet warm sensation that seemed to travel from his toes to his head quite quickly.

"Tell me you have a theory about this case," Cuddy insisted, barely waiting for the door to close behind House.

"Okay," House proceeded cautiously. "I have a theory about this case. Several, actually. We're whittling them down as we speak."

"Mr. and Mrs. Zaheer, along with the vice president of student affairs, were just in my office demanding to know why their son's condition continues to deteriorate further despite the medicines and technology at our disposal." Cuddy sounded like she had taken the last part from a direct quote.

"Because he's sick and we don't know why," House said, not masking conceit. "I don't know about you, but I find it hard to use those medicines and technologies to cure a patient when I haven't even diagnosed him yet."

"Hah!" she laughed. "Since when? You get an idea in your head and start treatment before you confirm the diagnosis all the time."

She was right, which House hated and instantly chose to defy.

"If you wanted me to act like I always have with this patient then you shouldn't have assigned Wilson to guard duty," he said, putting the focus back on her.

Cuddy glared at him. It was an excuse, blaming her, and she knew it. She simply doubted the merit of sticking up for herself. It wasn't worth the energy. Not now.

"Fine," Cuddy let him have the point. "But in the meantime, your patient's kidneys are failing, his lungs are filling with fluid, and his heart may be in danger from the pressure."

"Don't forget the bloody stool," House baited her.

"Bloody stool?"

"Probably nothing. Thirteen's chasing down E. coli, not that she'll find it."

Cuddy starred at him, hard. He could feel her eyes on him, filling with every emotion from confusion to anger to concern as they burrowed into him. It made him uneasy.

"The parents want him treated," Cuddy said, replacing her hot gaze with the cool stare of an administrator. "They want him put back on dialysis and they want him on antibiotics."

"No," House squealed, twisting his body in protest. "This isn't some garden variety bacteria that can be wiped out with an all-inclusive drug! The only thing broad spectrum antibiotics will do is box in his kidneys more, causing them to fail more rapidly, giving me less time to figure out what's really killing their son."

"You don't think it's an infection?" Cuddy asked him, looking for a way to support his process while still protecting the patient.

"If the kid had aspiration pneumonia then the antibiotic Cameron gave him in the ER took care of it," House explained. "Which means, either he has viral pneumonia, which besides being one hell of a coincidence is also not treatable by antibiotics, or, the fluid in his lungs has nothing to do with an infection and is the result of something wrong with his body's processes. Also not treatable with antibiotics."

Cuddy stood firm. "I get it, House. I really do. But they don't want to watch their son suffer anymore. Remember, you got this case yesterday. They've been dealing with this since Sunday morning. I can do my best to talk them out of the antibiotics, but your patient goes back on dialysis now."

House pouted through his rage. "You let me have this case. After months of watching Foreman take the scenic route around every diagnosis I finally have a chance to do this again, the right way. Don't tie my hands!"

"You tied your own hands years ago!" she found herself shouting back at him. Cuddy heard the words come out like the maddening beat of the pulse at her neck. She sounded vengeful which took her by surprise. House too, it seemed. She didn't feel that way towards him. But that was the way the words came out, vindictive and without pity.

House's face fell as if from some great rooftop. His grip tightened around his cane while his shoulders fell limp. He looked anywhere but at her. He wasn't sure if he could hide whatever was behind his eyes; fear, pain, love. And he could smell the regret coming off her, her own mysterious remorse at words that had acted of their own accord, leaving her off balance. He could tell from the way she was squirming that she was fighting with her need to apologize, comfort and reassure him. He could also see that he wasn't the only one who may have grown more comfortable with themselves during his absence. She was also fighting to keep the authority that belonged to her and was doing a hell of job, something House had always wished she would embrace more.

He managed to meet her eyes. They were sad but firm.

"He goes back on dialysis," Cuddy instructed, no longer yelling or fighting.

House nodded. "I'll get Taub and Thirteen up there now," he told her, hoping his voice had some measure of comfort for her in it. He didn't want her to spend the rest of the day agonizing over him.

Cuddy thought she heard something in the way he acquiesced; something approaching tender. She thought House sounded more the way he often had before he'd been away, trying to balance strength and emotion in a neat package. It let her breathe easier as she backed out of the office. It also tugged at her heart, reminding her of the other instruction she had come to deliver.

"You have physical therapy at noon," she reminded him kindly.

"I know," he answered, not a trace of the smart ass in his voice. He even tried a weak smile which Cuddy lingered on.

He was thankful when she turned and left the room but the relief at being alone disappeared as quickly as it had come on when Wilson poked his head in from the next room.

"You okay?" Wilson asked him.

House took the deepest breath of his life.

"I think so," he said, almost upbeat. "Our patient is going back on dialysis."

Wilson nodded. "Yeah. We heard that," he said, and House had to laugh just a bit.

 

The elevator doors opened onto the ICU wing. Taub and Thirteen headed down one hallway while Wilson accompanied House down another. It was a shorter hallway with a waiting room at the end and both doctors wished they had been allowed to travel down the other hall when they saw what awaited them.

Mr. Zaheer was pacing the same ten foot area with a surprisingly rapid pace. His wife sat curled on the edge of a couch, hugging her knees to her chest. House's distaste for dealing with the family of patients was sweating from his every pore. And so he hung back and let Wilson take the first swing.

"Mr. and Mrs. Zaheer," Wilson's easy and calming nature was set to high, even for him.

Both parents stopped their anxious movements and stood directly before them with expectant looks.

"Doctor Wilson," Mrs. Zaheer seemed glad to see a familiar face.

Wilson had the good sense to speak before either parent could begin to question.

"This is Doctor House. He's in charge of your son's case," Wilson introduced them.

"Then please, Doctor House," Mr. Zaheer pleaded, "Tell us what you are doing for our son."

House pushed his pride aside and spoke softly. "Right now my team is putting your son back on dialysis."

That produced a quick response from the parents who hugged one another in relief.

"The dialysis should help relieve the fluid in his lungs and the pressure on his heart. It should also give us more time to find out what's causing your son's kidneys to fail."

"I don't understand," Mr. Zaheer said. "Why can't you treat the pneumonia with antibiotics?"

House looked sideways at Wilson who took the hint.

"We're not convinced the fluid in your son's lungs is the result of pneumonia," Wilson tried his best to explain. "We tested some of the sputum that he coughed up and the amount and types of bacteria weren't consistent with the aspiration pneumonia he was being treated for earlier."

"You're saying the pneumonia isn't bacterial?" Mrs. Zaheer asked. "Is there some sort of anti-viral treatment you could try instead?"

Wilson looked at her a moment before answering. "We're looking into that now, but you should both know that your son may not have pneumonia at all."

They looked at House, hoping he could make sense of what was happening to their son.

He did his best. "Your son has pulmonary edema, basically a buildup of fluid in his lungs. Since the antibiotics cleared the pneumonia that he came in with, it's much more likely that the fluid is a result of whatever is causing his kidney failure."

"Which is?" Mr. Zaheer demanded to know.

"I don't know that yet," House admitted, his answer pulling the rug out from under their feet. "We're still running tests for genetic diseases, blood conditions that could have been triggered by the pneumonia or the alcohol, looking for malformations in and around the kidneys." He couldn't think of anything else to tell them and so he stopped talking.

His silence didn't sit well.

"How long will all of this take?" Mrs. Zaheer looked to both House and Wilson for a definite answer.

"We can't be sure," Wilson told her. "But the dialysis should give us the time we need."

House had been watching as the parents grew closer to hysteria. At any moment it would take over, taking precious time away from treating their son. So when he heard Thirteen's voice calling out loudly from down the opposite hall and saw the rush at the nurses' station, it was a welcome reprieve.

"Excuse me," House shuffled quickly off towards the commotion, leaving Wilson with the distraught parents.

Approaching his patient's room, he confirmed what he'd thought Thirteen had yelled out; a code blue. The patient was in cardiac arrest.

"Epi is on board," one of the nurses announced.

"I need to tube him!" Thirteen insisted. "Push .7 of Vecuronium!"

"We need to relieve the pressure around his heart now," Taub said coolly.

House stepped inside, careful to stay out of the way.

"What the hell happened?" he demanded.

"We were hooking his central line up to the dialysis machine and he started to complain of chest pain," Thirteen informed him, preparing to intubate while the paralytic took effect.

Taub picked up where Thirteen left off. "His heart stopped seconds later. We're prepping for Perocardiocentisis now."

House noticed Wilson at the door, doing his best to block the parents from entering.

"I'm in," Thirteen said when she'd placed the ET tube. "Bag him."

"Hand me the Betadine," Taub said and went about generously spreading the disinfectant around the area where he would insert the needle into the sack around Qaiser's heart.

"What's happening?" Mrs. Zaheer cried out hysterically.

"Get them out of here!" House shouted back to Wilson or a nurse or whoever would do the job.

"Hand me the needle," Taub requested, hearing the parents cries of disappear down the hall.

Thirteen retrieved a syringe from a nearby tray and handed it to Taub who was busy feeling for the spot in between the ribs that would allow him to puncture the sack around the patient's heart and drain the excess fluid putting pressure there. He located it quickly and stabbed through the skin, slowly feeling for the popping sensation that would let him know he had entered the pericardial sack that surrounded the heart.

"Got it," he announced a few seconds later, careful not to push further and nick the heart muscle. Slowly he pulled back on the syringe, the excess fluid rushing out of the sack.

The pressure on the heart muscle decreased and the monitor began to show signs of returning to a normal rhythm. As Taub drew further back on the syringe, the waves indicated Qaiser's heart beat had begun to stabilize.

Taub pulled back when the syringe was halfway filled and the heart was back in normal sinus rhythm. "Okay," he said, looking at Thirteen. "Let's not do that again."

The room began to clear as the code team collected the crash cart and finished hooking Qaiser up to both the ventilator and dialysis machines. Wilson returned, giving House a look that meant he would owe Wilson a rather large favor for dealing with the parents. But House wasn't interested in anything but the tell-tale sign of a deepening bruise spreading across the abdomen of his patient.

House stepped forward and pulled the hospital gown up on both sides. He waited until they had all had a chance to see what he had.

"New symptom," he announced, half in excitement and half in angst. "Liver failure."

They looked at each other. They looked at the patient's chart for something they had missed, something that would have tipped them off to the impending death of yet another vital organ. Then they looked at one another again.

"I didn't see any signs of jaundice when I looked at his corneas," Taub said. "No cloudiness either."

"Jaundice can be harder to see in people of middle-eastern descent," Thirteen said as she looked carefully at Qaiser's finger nails for yellowing.

"Liver function tests were normal this morning," Wilson said, reviewing lab results. He shook his head. "Now what?"

House looked away, his eye catching the time on the wall clock. It was eleven.

"Redraw the liver function panel and rush it," House ordered. "Grab me a few vials for the Fabry test, HUS and TTP, a viral load, and another to look for chewed up platelets. Do it fast and get them to me in the lab."

He began to walk away.

"Wait," Thirteen stopped him. "You're going to be in the lab?"

He nodded. "Until noon. Then I'll be in physical therapy. Cuddy's orders. You two," he paused and pointed at Wilson, "Get Wilson to give you the name and photo of Qaiser's roommate and get down to the campus student center before Friday prayers. Find him, interrogate him, then bring him here and really scare the hell out him. I need information."

"I'll go update the family," Wilson offered.

"Good," House thanked him.

Taub and Thirteen rushed to fill vials of blood as House and Wilson exited back down the hallway.

"Any more bright ideas?" Wilson asked before they parted, House for the relative safety of his lab and him towards the distraught parents.

Hitting the down button with the tip of his cane, House thought while he waited for the elevator to appear.

"Liver failure gives us new options to explore," he said matter-of-factly. "If you can find a way to make that sound like a positive step towards their son getting better, let me know."

Wilson watched House disappear into the elevator. He knew that the heavy load House challenged himself with when he took on a case was now fully setting in and it could trigger problems. He doubted that there would ever be a full regression back to the hallucinatory state that had prompted House's summer stay at Mayfair but there were other possibilities. Alcohol, drugs, stupid stunts that resulted in self-inflicted pain and misery.

And down the hall, he had two scared parents in a misery all their own.

One case of misery at a time, Wilson reminded himself and set off towards the waiting room.

 

Warm, soothing bubbles flowed over House's lower body as he soaked in the hydrotherapy whirlpool after forty minutes of physical therapy; forty minutes in which he had been concentrating on his patient's liver failure rather than his own mobility and strengthening exercises. The PT assistant had called him on it but no amount of pestering could chase away the dying patient he felt responsible for lying upstairs. He'd even tried to worm his way out of the tub, usually his favorite part of the weekly sessions. But he'd been convinced that he could brainstorm almost as well in the hydrotherapy pool as he could anywhere else and he'd have less pain later in the day if he complied.

And so he sat, in short swim trunks and an old gym tee shirt, considering the many roads between kidney and liver failure, when Cameron interrupted.

"If I'd known you were coming, I would have requested a tub for two," he said, willing her to leave him peace.

"I heard about the liver failure," Cameron said anyway.

"Yeah, looks like you're off the hook for causing the kidney failure," he reminded her.

She gave him a small and patronizing smile. "I never thought it was the Clindomycin."

"Good for you," House told her. "Still think he's not a drinker?"

She took her time before answering. "I don't know," she said with classic Cameron optimism, revealing that she did indeed still believe her former alcohol poisoning patient had his first experience with alcohol only a week ago.

"Taub and Thirteen should be back with some better answers any moment," he said, looking at the time. "I sent them after Qaiser's roommate. They should have had time to put the fear of God in to him by now." He paused a moment. "Sorry. The fear of Allah. I keep forgetting."

Cameron leaned against the wall, folding her arms, a look on her face that House had come to interpret as her way of reasoning silently through whatever was bothering her.

"Doesn't it seem odd to you?" she asked and House knew she had managed to find words for the thought that she hadn't yet settled. "I mean, how does a kid like Qaiser end up rushing one of the exclusive eating clubs at Princeton?"

"Peer pressure. He told Wilson he'd agreed to go along with a friend."

She shook her head. "But he could have signed up for a less exclusive club and avoided the alcohol and whatever hazing ritual they put him through. Exclusive eating clubs are for legacy students and socialites and children of the wealthy and powerful. Qaiser had a scholarship, no social standing, and a father who drives a delivery truck."

House thought about for a moment and he had to agree with Cameron. Something didn't quite fit. Of course, neither did Wilson, who as he finished his thought, also joined them in the small hydro room.

"Sorry," Wilson apologized, almost breathless. He marched quickly to the phone on wall and transferred a call, putting it on speaker. "Tell House what you told me," he said to whoever was at the other end of the line.

"We found Ahmed," Thirteen's voice announced through the phone.

"And?" House yelled back at her over the sound of the jets.

"Where are you?" she asked, obviously wondering what the background noise was.

House opened his mouth to answer then thought of an easier way. Reaching to the side, he shut off the bubbles abruptly. "That better?"

"Yes," Thirteen said, still waiting for an answer but giving up on ever receiving one. "We found Ahmed and he says that Qaiser has never had alcohol or done drugs when he was around. He confirmed what Qaiser said about going out for Bickers with a guy named Charlie. They were roommates Spring semester of their freshman year. Ahmed doesn't seem to like him much; he thinks Charlie uses Qaiser just to pass math classes. Also, Ahmed isn't sick and hasn't been all semester so we can probably rule out E. coli and Salmonella."

"What about Qaiser? Any recent illness or pre-existing conditions?" Cameron asked, putting Thirteen off her game for a brief moment.

"Uh, no. He says Qaiser was healthy when he saw him last Saturday morning. But House," the excitement in her voice was beginning to grow, "I think Charlie may have had something to do with the alcohol poisoning."

"Are you going to tell me why before the water gets cold?" House asked, knowing she wouldn't care that he was being cryptic.

"The lists we collected of the names of the Bickers," she continued. "The ones that Qaiser wasn't on? I had the one that guy Chad gave me yesterday and I showed it to Ahmed. It turns out that Charlie is on that list."

"Sounds like Charlie _is_ using Qaiser for more than just passing math classes," Wilson muttered.

House turned the idea over in his head.

"His name is Charles Ellington, at least on the list of Bickers," she told them.

"Does Ahmed know where this sinister friend is?" House asked.

"Not exactly." This time it was Taub's voice that came over the speaker phone. They could hear Thirteen quietly conferring with someone in the background. "He does live in the same hall as Qaiser and Ahmed and, like she said, they were roommates their freshman year. Maybe Qaiser's RA can tell us what room he's in."

Wilson spoke up. "Don't bother. Call Cuddy and have her get the information from the registrar."

House eyed his friend suspiciously.

"What?" Wilson stared back. "You think I pulled the patient's dorm room and his RA's contact information out of a hat?"

House smiled approvingly.

"Apparently," Taub said, after conferring with Thirteen again, "Ahmed thinks this Charlie guy has a girlfriend. Someone named Sarah Mitchell."

Taub sounded confused over the importance that Thirteen had placed on the name. He would soon find more confusion when both Cameron and House said, almost simultaneously, "The girl who called 911."

"Huh," Wilson thought that over.

"Have Cuddy get her information too," House instructed. "I want you to go and find them and get them in here. Drag them if you have to."

Taub didn't need to be told anymore. "You got it."

The phone clicked and was left with a dial tone. Wilson silenced it.

"I suppose it's possible that they slipped him something at the party," Wilson considered, trying to make up a list of possible substances that could cause the patient's deterioration.

Cameron looked unconvinced. "The original tox screen was negative."

"But that's just for the usual stuff," House said, grabbing a towel off a nearby chair and slowly pulling himself up out of the tub. "Who knows what kind of wacky substances didn't show up on the toxicology report?"

"So now you're going with drugs or some other poisoning?" Wilson asked.

"I still think a systemic failure is more likely," Cameron put in her two cents.

"It is," House agreed drying himself as the water receded. "But since we're groping around in the dark for whatever abnormal puzzle piece is inside the patient's body trying to kill him, I figured we should also follow up on the very odd, very evident, and only connection to someone who can tell us how Qaiser got here in the first place."

House swung himself over the side of the whirlpool and dried his feet. Wilson handed him his cane and watched as House rose carefully to a standing position.

Looking at Wilson and then at Cameron, House made a decision. "We're going to need more hands. At least until Taub and Thirteen can get back here with our suspects."

Cameron was already frowning but House could sense the old thrill of chasing down the mystery getting to her.

"How about it, Cameron?" he asked her. "You started with this patient. Want to help see it through to the end?"

She looked longingly at him for a moment but shook her head. "I'm supposed to be in the Clinic," she said. "And then I've got another late shift in the ER."

"You must really want Valentines free," House stated the obvious.

"It's the entire weekend. Friday through Monday on a beach with plenty of sun and room service," she grinned evilly at House.

That was difficult to compete with, House thought.

"Fine, I'll do your clinic hours in exchange for you assisting on procedures and helping out in the lab until your shift starts," House agreed.

It startled both Wilson and Cameron, hearing House offer to take on someone else's clinic duty for any reason. But House saw the twinge of remorse behind Cameron's eyes; the little voice that was telling her that she was responsible for getting him involved in the first place. The guilt she would feel if House didn't succeed on a case she had asked permission for him to take was slowly eating at her.

"Fine, I'll do it," she agreed. "You can make up my four hours."

House nodded. "Good. I'll change and meet you in the lab."

"Right," Cameron said a bit nervously, but she eagerly headed out the door for the familiarity of the diagnostic's lab.

House caught Wilson looking at him suspiciously for ulterior motives.

"You do know you're doing two of those clinic hours," House informed Wilson, who could only nod and submit.

 

Cameron was sitting comfortably in what had been her usual spot in the diagnostic's lab when House and Wilson returned. Seeing her there with her white coat and glasses, peering through a microscope as if she were watching the first single celled organisms on Earth come together to create life, House almost felt nostalgic. House saw a small bit of Wilson did too.

"Find anything?" House asked her, striding into the lab as he'd always done, confident, pausing at a certain distance and leaning on his cane.

Cameron looked up and felt a certain sense of nostalgia as well. He'd changed into his standard jeans, tee-shirt, button up that needed ironing and blazer that needed cleaning and of course, the trainers on his feet. If Foreman or Chase had been there, she would have sworn that there had been a rip in the space-time continuum.

Bringing herself into the present, she reported on what little she'd learned in the twenty minutes or so she'd been there. "His platelets look fine; no shredding. There also doesn't appear to be any excess muscle enzymes in the blood work. The genetic test for Fabry isn't complete but I don't see any signs of excess lipids in any of the lab work that would point towards a fat storage problem."

House grinned. "This lab has missed you."

She rolled her eyes.

"Seriously," House said. "I don't think the centrifuge has been calibrated since you left."

"I'll get right on that," Cameron lied.

Wilson stared at the lab results of the stool sample. "Looks like we can rule out E. coli and Salmonella."

"Hey," House scolded them. "Don't be such downers. We've got a whole new toy to play with now."

"House, come on," Wilson came back at him. "What could possibly be wrong with this kid's liver that would have shown up in his kidneys and lungs first?"

"Alcohol," House answered without missing a beat.

"You think he's been sneaking shots in the ICU?" Wilson asked him.

"What about Qaiser's roommate?" Cameron added. "He said they didn't drink."

House looked in to her innocent, puppy dog eyes with disappointment. "How well did your college roommate _really_ know you?"

He was glad when she admitted that it hadn't been as well she should have. Considering it was Cameron, House had been slightly afraid that the analogy would backfire into some heartening tale of female bonding.

"Okay," House started over. "Since we don't know for sure if this kid is secretly a lush, why don't we look and see if the liver shows any signs of scarring. If it does, we'll know that the liver likely caused the kidney failure."

"Cirrhosis can be caused by things other than alcohol," Wilson reminded him. "We should look for Hepatitis. I know vaccinations are required when students enroll, but he may have contracted it growing up in Pakistan and never known."

"Hep B and C would have likely shown up in the STD panel," House explained. "But Hep A is a possibility."

"I'll retest for all of them," Cameron offered. "And I'll recheck all his liver function panels since he was brought in. Maybe they'll give us some clue as to when the liver began to fail."

"Great," House said. "Come on, Wilson. Let's go look at a liver. I'll bring the popcorn."

 

Thirteen slipped her phone back in her pocket along with a missed call from Foreman. Cuddy had come through with the information she and Taub needed to find Charlie and his girlfriend; her personal life could wait.

They were standing in front of Sarah Mitchell's door, having struck out at finding Charlie at the residential hall. They found the previous day's presidential welcome at the eating club that had listed Charles Ellington as a Bicker, less than inviting. Chad didn't know if the Charles on his list and the Charlie that Ahmed swore were the same person actually was. The only information they'd been able to uncover was that the Charles on the list did in fact have a girlfriend whose name was Sarah.

Frustrated, cold, and wet from the unceasing rain outside, Thirteen took over pounding on Sarah Mitchell's door. The polite tapping that Taub had tried obviously wasn't getting the job done.

A moment later, a skinny brunette with tattoos where her sweats didn't cover, answered the door.

"Sorry," the girl said, slipping two ear buds out. "I guess I must have been really rocking it."

Taub looked at Thirteen, his face happy with the excuse that had been given. Thirteen tried to take a breath and relax.

"Are you Sarah Mitchell?" Taub asked the girl who stood squarely in the doorway.

She eyed them suspiciously. "Who wants to know?"

Taub apologized and made the introductions. "We really need to speak to Sarah," he emphasized.

"Sorry," the tattooed girl shrugged. "She's out for the night."

"Then you're her roommate?" Thirteen said.

"Yeah. I'm Amy, Sarah's roommate."

"Do you have any idea where Sarah might be?" Taub asked Amy.

She was eyeing them suspiciously again and Thirteen was growing weary of the constant scrutiny. She was also done giving the speech about being doctors and not cops. It had taken them almost two hours between Charlie's oblivious roommate and the eating club president's stubborn denials to get to Sarah's doorstep. Time was running out and she was tired of being played. This is when Thirteen had the idea to play a little game of her own.

Pushing Taub a little off to the side, she leaned in closely to the roommate, Amy, and put on her best girl-to-girl game face.

"I'm really sorry," she started out, "but I need to find Sarah. See, she came to the Clinic the other day and somehow her test results were screwed up." She shoved Taub even further into the hallway. "And now my boss," she leaned her head towards Taub, "blames me."

Amy looked slightly terrified. "Is she okay?"

"She should be fine," Thirteen told the now concerned roommate. "I just have to find her and make sure she takes a couple of pills; her boyfriend, too. That's all."

Amy gave her a knowing look. "She's never careful," she said.

Thirteen pleaded softly. "Help me out?"

The girl nodded and spoke loudly enough for both Thirteen and Taub to hear. "She left almost two hours ago with her boyfriend, Charlie. They drive to her parents' place almost every Friday for dinner."

"Do you have an address?" Thirteen asked.

"No," Amy answered honestly. "But it's not hard to find. Just get on the interstate, drive until you've left civilization, and it's the first farm on the left."

Taub smiled at that. Thirteen muttered a thank you.

"Sorry to disturb you," Taub said as Thirteen returned to his side.

Amy stared smugly at Taub but gave Thirteen a grin of solidarity.

"Thank you," Thirteen returned the grin.

"Sure," Amy said and clicked the pen she had been holding. She gestured for Thirteen to give her her hand. She complied and Amy wrote down ten digits on the inside of her palm. "That's Sarah's cell."

Putting her ear buds back in, she waved and shut the door.

"What was that?" Taub asked when they were alone outside the door once again.

"I told her I was only trying to protect her roommate's sexual health," Thirteen replied innocently, trying the cell number she'd been given.

Taub nodded approvingly.

After several rings the phone buzzed loudly in her ear. "The customer you are trying to reach has left the coverage area. Please try your call again later."

Taub whipped out his own phone. "I'll call Cuddy and have her get us a phone number for Sarah's parents. And better directions then a farm in the middle of nowhere."

Thirteen agreed and Taub dialed as they made their way back to her car. She took another look at her own phone's display and the missed call from Foreman. She sighed and decided it could wait.

 

Whenever House visited the nuclear medicine department he had the distinct feeling of being entombed. It was colder than the morgue, more sterile than an operating room, bleaker than the rainy sky outside, and held giant equipment that resembled coffins. It was also too quiet.

"I should have brought music," House said as he and Wilson positioned Qaiser on the gurney and the equipment and screens around them.

"Yes," Wilson said thoughtfully. "What kind of music goes well with a HIDA scan, House?"

House thought. "Classical is out," he said as they slipped blue aprons over their bodies and necks. "Opera might work."

"I hate opera," their patient whispered. The breathing tube had been removed once he'd gained consciousness. "It's all about death."

"He has a point," Wilson acknowledged. "We need something more upbeat."

"I've got it," House announced, as if he'd just discovered the perfect wine for a gourmet meal. "We need the Who."

"Who?" Qaiser asked.

"Exactly," House nodded, knowing the kid had no idea of the pun he'd just made.

"Do you watch CSI?" Wilson asked him.

"Sure," Qaiser answered.

Wilson grinned. "The theme music to all of the CSI shows are actually songs taken from a band called The Who."

Qaiser's eyes lit up with sudden understanding.

"It's sad when great musicians are relegated to pop culture status," House told the teen. Then getting down the business he raised a syringe and made sure to catch his patient's eye.

"Okay," House began. "The last time you saw me with one of these I was taking stuff out." He let his eyes bug out, mimicking his maniacal performance from the kidney biopsy. "Fortunately for you, this time I will be putting stuff in."

"And it's radioactive stuff?" Qaiser looked uncertain.

Wilson took over. "It's safe. The fluid has a slight radioactive isotope that when injected will let us see all of the organs and blood vessels in your abdomen. We should be able to see anything that isn't working as it passes through."

"If it's so safe, why are you guys wearing lead aprons?" Qaiser asked.

House was quick with a comeback. "Are you kidding? These are the latest fashion in doctor couture. We had to send all the way to Paris to get these babies."

Wilson chuckled which calmed Qaiser.

"It might feel a little cold," Wilson said just before House bent to inject the tracer material. "It shouldn't do more than that. Just stay as still as you can."

He started to nod then stopped, remembering the instructions not to move.

When House had finished emptying the syringe into the IV, Wilson reached above the bed and lowered the imaging plate, adjusting the equipment on its arm so that the patient's torso was centered and in full view on the computer monitors. Then, like House, he pulled up a stool and sat, waiting patiently for pictures.

______________________________________________________________________________

Huddled under the gas station overhang with his hands wrapped around a hot paper cup, Taub shivered and counted the numbers until the pump clicked and the tank was full. They had stopped just off the 206 for gas and coffee. With daylight fading fast and the rain coming down in buckets, it was slow going to reach Sarah's parents farm where they hoped to find Charlie and some concrete answers about their ailing patient.

Returning the pump to its cradle, Taub hastily reached for the car door and slid inside, leaving the damp chill outside. Thirteen had just finished a call and was eagerly sipping her own coffee.

"Still no answer," she told him, having tried several times now to reach Sarah, her parents, or Charlie.

"How's Foreman?" Taub asked her. He'd seen her constant glances at the phone, heard the way she deflected when House brought him up, and now watched as she squirmed at his question.

"He's fine," she said without expression. "It looks like his dad is coming home tomorrow."

"That's good," Taub said about the father. "What did he say when you told him House was in charge of a case?"

Thirteen turned the key in the ignition, adjusting the vents to warm her chilled body.

"I didn't tell him," Thirteen admitted, still void of emotion.

Taub absorbed the slight shock she delivered so smoothly.

"Why not?" His voice was strained.

"Because," she said with an amused look, "Foreman would have wanted to rush back, which he can't do. House has this under control. I didn't think he needed to be worried about being in two places at once when he's only really needed with his parents."

"Yes," he said, thinking she was right about Foreman wanting to come back and yet not convinced that was her only motive. "It's sweet of you to protect him like that."

She couldn't ignore the sarcasm in Taub's tone. She looked at him straight on. "What?" she asked. "Why do you care what I told Foreman?"

"Because now you're going to have to tell him when he gets back," he told her. "Unless you want him to hear it from someone else and wonder why you didn't mention it. Trust me when I say that will be the hard part."

She smirked. "This isn't infidelity. I work for House, not Foreman. It's not like I'm cheating on him just because he isn't here to supervise."

Taub was amused. "So a lie of omission is okay as long as your motives are pure?"

"You are the last person I need lecturing me about relationships," she said angrily, starting the engine and turning the windshield wipers and headlights on. "Just because you figured out how to make your marriage work doesn't mean you can fix everyone else."

Taub waited a minute for her to calm down. She was right, he thought as they made their way back onto the interstate. He hadn't set out to give relationship advice; he'd been concerned about what would happen when Foreman returned and Cuddy had to decide on a permanent team dynamic. He didn't do well with change and he'd barely adjusted to needing Foreman's approval. If House was back in charge again, that would mean another change to deal with, and how Foreman perceived that change had a great deal of influence on how well he would adjust.

"I'm sorry," he said after they'd driven several miles in silence. "It was a selfish question."

She relaxed her grip on the wheel, glancing sideways at him to gauge his sincerity.

After a few more silent miles she managed a question of her own. "How did you find out that Foreman was leaving?"

"An email from the airport on Wednesday night," Taub answered. "We all found out that way."

She took a deep breath and exhaled loudly. "Exactly. We _all_ found out that way."

Taub raised an eyebrow. "Wait. You mean, he didn't tell you he was leaving himself? In person or a phone call?"

She drove on, shaking her head. "Nope. I got the same damn email that you and Cuddy and House and Cameron and who knows who else got."

"Huh."

"I understand wanting to avoid the meet-the-family stress, especially when one of them is in the hospital and the other has Alzheimer's," she acknowledged. "I just wish he would have trusted that I would know that."

Taub smiled softly at her. "He should have," he said, sounding almost wise.

Thirteen caught his small smile out of the corner of her eye. The tension began to melt with each passing mile.

"So," Taub said after passing two exits. "When do we get there?"

 

Cuddy studied House from the hall outside his office. He was busy at the computer, glasses on, looking intently between the screen, the images on the light board, and the patient's chart. The whiteboard had been wheeled in, now covered in symptoms, tests, and diagnoses that had been scratched out. His stubble had grown and darkened and the lines on his forehead were actively reshaping themselves as possibilities came and went.

Cuddy had missed watching him like this. She would often sneak upstairs after most of the staff had gone home and watch House in all his concentration and wrinkled attire as he poured over a case. She had managed for years to keep her innocent act of voyeurism hidden from him, knowing that if he knew that this was when she found herself most vulnerable to his charms, or lack there of, the spell might be broken.

After months of not having the opportunity to see him like this, Cuddy stood not only in awe of House and his talents but of herself and how much she'd missed watching him like this. She'd thought that if the day came again when she would have the opportunity to watch him hard at work that she wouldn't be capable of feeling the same way. And maybe it wasn't exactly the same but she did feel the vulnerability, the attraction, even the desire she knew she probably shouldn't even now.

Looking down at her watch, she decided to come out of hiding and risk entering his office.

House looked up as Cuddy gently pushed his office door open, taking off his glasses and focusing on her, the first distraction he'd allowed himself in hours.

"I thought you would have gone home by now," he said, looking into her eyes for a clue to her visit.

"You're my last stop before I head home," she told him, her voice thick with comfort. She leaned her briefcase against the yellow easy chair. "Where's Wilson?"

"Cafeteria," House answered.

They stared at one another for an anxious moment that neither cared to experience.

"I wanted to apologize for this afternoon," Cuddy said.

At the same instant, House was talking over her. "Sorry I was an ass earlier."

That led to another anxious moment before dissolving into mutual grins and unspoken acceptances.

"Is that the HIDA scan?" she asked after a moment.

House nodded and feeling brave, Cuddy crossed behind his desk to look at the computer screen. She hovered near enough to give him goose bumps.

He tried focusing his attention on anything but her. "Pancreas, spleen," he said, bringing up each series of images one at a time. "Nothing out of the ordinary. Good blood flow to the kidneys and gallbladder. The liver," he zoomed in on the organ, "is clean; virtually no cirrhosis. So I owe Cameron a hundred bucks."

Cuddy let out a knowing laugh. "Not to mention four hours in the Clinic."

House looked at the all-knowing smile on her lips and found it tempting.

Cuddy broke from his gaze and pointed to another view of the liver. "Bring that one up," she asked him and House complied. She was staring intently at the bile ducts that connected to the liver. "The ducts look slightly narrow."

House beamed with pride. "Excellent catch Doctor Cuddy. Not even Wilson picked up on that one the first time."

She smiled back but it quickly turned to a grimace. "He's young for Primary Sclorosing Colongitis," she said, taking another look at the scan in motion on the screen. "If he's got it, it's very early in its progression."

House nodded in agreement. "Ironic, isn't it? I go fishing for signs of alcoholism and find out that in about thirty years, he'll need a new liver, despite no alcoholism."

"At least we can get him on the donor list early," Cuddy tried to make light of the situation.

But House wasn't amused. "He won't be around long enough to need a new liver if I can't figure this damn thing out."

Cuddy straightened, watching House become angry with himself. She'd watched him do it on many cases over the years, retreating to somewhere away from anyone's reach, as if to avoid hurting them. And yet that was exactly what he accomplished each time.

But not this time, Cuddy made up her mind. She wasn't going to let any of them fall into the old, destructive patterns. She decided to grab him before he could get too far down the rabbit hole.

"Talk to me, House," she insisted, leaning against his desk and facing him with a sweet determination.

He appreciated the attempt, and the view, but he knew he didn't have the time. So he reached past her for his glasses, intent on continuing his search.

He was surprised when he felt her hand intercept his, pushing it and the glasses back to the desk. He looked up, startled at the stubborn face she wore.

"You don't get to avoid me, House," she said sternly. "Not when it comes to patients."

She waited for him to insult her, try and push her as far away from poking a hole in his emotions as possible. She waited for the anger and the hurt and the outrage. She waited but it never came.

He sat back in his chair without letting her hand lose its grip on his own. He was quiet, trying not to look at Cuddy, remembering all the ways he could hurt her and have his silent anger all to himself. He wouldn't, he knew, despite not knowing what he should do now.

Cuddy, looking into the well behind his blue eyes, knew he had no idea what to do or say. So she made the first move.

"This may surprise you," she began with a combination of authority and empathy, "but I'm actually capable of worrying about my daughter, the hospital, and you, all at the same time. And I haven't dropped a ball yet."

He looked longingly at her. "You shouldn't have to worry about me," he whispered.

"You don't get to decide that, House," she reminded him, holding on tighter to his hand.

Her gentle squeeze seemed to trigger a sudden explosion inside him and without even realizing it, House began to reveal things he never had before.

"You were right, earlier. I have lost my touch. A year ago I would have thrown every procedure, every medication, and every experimental treatment for whatever diagnosis popped into my head at this kid without thinking twice. And something would have worked, the kid would be fine, and I'd have my puzzle solved."

"Or he'd be dead," Cuddy interrupted. "The antibiotics could have killed him before his liver began to fail and you'd only solve this case at autopsy. House," she shifted so he couldn't look away from her. "You were just as passionate about not restarting the dialysis or antibiotics, and who knows? You may yet prove yourself right. God knows it's crazy, and you and crazy have a pretty good track record."

She stopped and reconsidered what she'd just said. Considering the kind of crazy he'd dealt with lately, perhaps she should have chosen her words more carefully.

House saw how uncomfortable she was, probably trying to think of a way to get off the crazy topic. It annoyed him that people couldn't or wouldn't use that word around him, that they winced and skirted around his break as if not talking about it would somehow make him forget it happened. That Cuddy did it seemed a personal affront.

"Stop," he told her. "Stop tip-toeing around me like I'm a china doll. It happened, Cuddy," he leaned into her, more forceful now. "I hallucinated. I went crazy. I went away and then I came back. Am I sane now? I don't know. Am I capable of being the same kind of doctor I was before all of this happened? Maybe not."

"Is that what you're worried about?" she practically screamed at him. And yet she wouldn't let go of his hand.

"Of course that's what I'm worried about!" he yelled back. "You've got Foreman babysitting me, then Wilson. I can't solve this damn case. And you won't look at me or let us be left alone together for more than a few minutes. I'm not the same and you don't feel the same!"

House expected her to cower but Cuddy only rallied.

"We are alone, you jackass!" she exclaimed. "And you are going to solve this case! You don't get to have your first crisis of faith – not in me or yourself. Not now."

She let House sit in silence for a minute to prove she wouldn't back down. And suddenly she was very aware of him staring at their hands, still locked together on the desk. Her knuckles were white from holding him so tightly. Her breath caught and she loosened her grip, afraid she might have actually hurt him. But as she let go, House caught her same hand and held it for a moment in his. He gently stroked it. Once, twice, then let it go.

"Thank you," he said humbly.

"Don't thank me yet," Cuddy said, allowing herself a small, private smile. "You still have a case to solve."

"And food to eat," Wilson entered, carrying a box from the cafeteria. "Have Taub and Thirteen checked in yet?"

"No," House answered, reaching greedily for what smelled like fries.

"It's been over two hours," Wilson said, sounding concerned.

Cuddy reached over House to grab one of his fries. "Give them some time," she said, narrowly avoiding getting her hand slapped back. "It takes a while to find a farmhouse in south Jersey in all this rain." She chewed and swallowed, looking out House's window at the sheets of rain that fell from the sky. "Which reminds me," she said, crossing back to where she had left her briefcase beside House's easy chair.

House realized almost immediately what she had in mind.

"Again?" he whined as she pulled the plastic bag with its urine cup from her bag.

She stood, smiling sympathetically. "Sorry House. But there's an emergency board meeting tomorrow afternoon."

"There is?" Wilson hadn't heard about it and he was on the board.

"Noon," Cuddy informed him. "We're meeting with the University president about what the hospital and the clinic can do to prevent alcohol abuse. And you know they'll grill me about House."

Wilson looked at him. "She's right."

House stood and took the cup from Cuddy. "You want to stop alcohol abuse? Stop having stupid board meetings," he said, completely serious.

Cuddy smiled at that.

"You need to watch?" House asked her, heading for the door and the bathroom down the hall.

"God, no," she winced. "Wilson can hang back at the door."

Wilson looked at her. "Seriously?"

House flashed a wicked smile. "I always wanted a pee buddy," he said sarcastically.

Wilson stood and followed House down the hall to the men's room. Leaning against an empty stall, he waited while House filled the specimen cup.

"I hope Taub and Thirteen are okay," he said absently.

House turned part way and said, "Dude. I'm trying to pee."

"Sorry," Wilson said. "It's just, if this rain keeps up, we'll have to build an ark."

House finished and took the cup with him to sink to wash his hands. "You get sea sick," House reminded Wilson.

"Yeah, but if the choice is between living in a boat with a bunch of animals and dying in a vengeful flood . . ."

Wilson stopped because House did. He'd stopped washing and was staring through the mirror.

"What?" Wilson prodded as House's eyes narrowed, finding some answer in between the words he'd said only in jest.

For an instant, time froze. And when it began again, House was headed out the bathroom door with a grin for Wilson and the urine cup in his hand.

Wilson followed him back to the office where Cuddy was waiting for the urine sample. But House only stepped in long enough to ask a question.

"You said farmhouse?" House said, covering Cuddy's face in confusion.

"Yes," she answered slowly, her hand stretched out for the cup. "Taub and Thirteen went to find this Charlie guy at his girlfriend's parents' place."

"Yeah, yeah," he hurried her along. "When you said farmhouse, did you mean a quaint little country cottage or did you mean an actual working farm?"

She felt his eyes drilling into her skull.

"Uh, a farm," she said, still waiting for him to give her the cup. But House turned quickly and continued down the hall, specimen still in hand. “House?"

Both Cuddy and Wilson tried to catch up to him but House seemed to be moving at lightening speed.

"What did you say?" Cuddy asked Wilson as they followed House towards the lab. Cuddy knew House often found sudden revelation in a case in casual conversation with him. She found it very helpful, if not a bit creepy.

"I have no idea," Wilson answered, remembering a similar exchange between himself and House just that morning over Cuddy.

Cameron was still in the lab when House burst in, wild-eyed and determined.

"There's no Hepati-"

"Where's the beer bottle?" House cut her off, searching the room for the bottle he'd brought back with him to test for drugs.

He scanned all the countertops, opened the cupboards, and finally began to search the trash.

Looking very confused and a little worried, Cameron got off of her stool and retrieved the amber bottle from beside the centrifuge.

"Is this what you're looking for?" she said, holding it up. "It was in my way."

House snatched it from her hand and set it down on the counter, twisting open the lid of the specimen cup.

"Do you need me to test that?" Cameron asked about the urine, assuming it belonged to the patient.

"Nope," House said, snapping on a glove and carefully holding the bottle in place as he poured the contents of the cup into the beer bottle.

"House, what are you doing?" Cuddy demanded an answer as he finished pouring.

He looked up at her, excitement dancing behind his eyes. "Testing our patient's sense of smell."

It was apparent from all of their faces that they hadn't yet caught up to him, so he continued on, pushing Cuddy and Wilson aside and making for the elevator.

"Don't worry," he turned and hit the up arrow. "I'll get you a new sample."

Cuddy stood frozen, mouth wide open.

The elevator arrived and Wilson managed to slip on with House just as the doors slid shut.

"House?" Wilson tried to catch his friend's gaze. "What's going on?"

There was no answer as House hit the button for the ICU wing.

"House, that bottle has chemical compounds all over it." Wilson's voice was strained. "You can't make him drink from it."

House turned to Wilson with disgust. "Ewww."

"Then what?" he pestered, exiting with House.

The two drew stares as House marched down the hallway with his cane in one hand and the beer bottle in the other. House smiled pleasantly at all who looked on, even raising the bottle in a cheer to the nurses outside their patient's room.

"Watch and be amazed as the Bible comes to life before your very eyes," House said to Wilson with just enough conviction to make Wilson consider that House had finally gone mad.

"Qaiser!" House called out to the kid on the gurney. "It seems I owe you an apology."

Qaiser shifted in his bed. "You saw I had no scarring on my liver. You believe me now, about not drinking."

"Yes," House nodded, approaching the bedside, hanging his cane from the bed rail. "Well, except for that one time. And I believe you when you say you'll never do it again."

A small crowd had begun to gather outside the door and Cuddy and Cameron had managed to push through and into the room.

"House!" Cameron called out.

"It's all right Doctor Cameron," Qaiser calmed her. "He believes me now, that I don't drink."

"Of course I do," House told them. "Tell me something," he said to Qaiser. "The one time you did drink, was the beer cold or warm?"

"It was cold in the beginning," Qaiser said, thinking back. "But it got warmer each time."

"This friend of yours, Charlie," House said, inching closer to the bed. "You ever tell him that charming little tale about your grandmother's goat? The one that almost made Doctor Hadley lose her cookies?"

Qaiser looked confused but answered him. "Yes. When he asked me to do Bickers with him. I told him about the smell."

House looked directly at Cuddy, Cameron and Wilson. "Qaiser thinks beer tastes like ass," he said, shocking them, "and he should know. His grandmother's goat used to sit on his face when he tried to milk it." He turned back to Qaiser and raised the beer bottle. "Is this what you were drinking that night?"

"House!" Cuddy protested.

"Yes, that's the beer," Qaiser said after a quick look at the logo on the bottle.

"Great."

House shoved the bottle under the kid's nose.

"Ugh!" Qaiser tried to turn away but House let the bottle follow him.

"Take a good whiff, Qaiser," House instructed. "Is this what you were drinking?"

Reluctantly, Qaiser sniffed the substance in the bottle one more time. His face turned green.

"That's the stuff," he said, sure of himself. "Just like the goat's ass."

Wilson's phone rang and he fumbled to answer it. "It's Taub," he informed them.

"Wait," Cameron stepped between House and their patient. "Are you saying that Qaiser was drinking urine instead of beer?"

House feigned shock. "No! At least not actual human urine." He turned to Wilson. "Ask Taub what kind of animal Charlie tapped for his special brew."

Wilson asked, feeling stupid saying the words.

"Why would his friend have him drink urine?" Cuddy asked, mad as hell at House's stunt.

"Simple," House said nonchalantly. "To get into an exclusive eating club."

"But we pledged together," Qaiser insisted.

"No, you didn't," Cameron looked at him with sympathy. "Charlie was on the Bickers list but you weren't. They never had any intention of letting you into their eating club. I'm sorry."

Qaiser shook his head in disbelief.

"I'm still not sure where the urine comes in," Cuddy said, demanding more.

Wilson rejoined the conversation. "You were right, House. Taub and Thirteen pulled a confession from him. Charlie filled a thermos with urine from one of the horses at Sarah's parents' farm."

"You don't have to look so surprised," House told Wilson. "I am a diagnostic genius."

House felt eyes roll all around the room.

"It's Leptospirosis," House announced his diagnoses. "Don't worry, it's treatable," he mentioned off-hand to the nervous patient.

"I got this from drinking horse urine?" Qaiser questioned.

"Horse, sheep, hell, even a goat would have done," House answered. "But it's not likely you contracted it from actually swallowing the stuff. Your stomach acids, as whacked out as they were from the alcohol, which was the cold stuff by the way, probably would have taken care of it. You probably spilled it, rubbed it in your eye, got it on your hands before taking a piss."

"Why would Charlie do this?" Qaiser said, wheezing from the stress and the fluid still in his lungs.

"It was a hazing," Wilson explained calmly, having hung up with Taub. "The eating club agreed to let Charlie in if he could get you to drink alcohol. And when you agreed to that, they decided to up the stakes. Charlie had to get you to drink urine if he wanted in."

Wilson looked as pathetic as Charlie's justification. Qaiser looked betrayed. House was the only one who seemed pleased.

"We'll start you on Doxycline," House informed his sullen patient. "We'll have to keep you here to monitor any side effects but you should start feeling better in a few days."

"Thank you Doctor House," Qaiser whispered.

House nodded and retreated from the room with his beer bottle full of urine, leaving Cuddy, Cameron and Wilson to deal with the crushed boy king.

 

They'd all gravitated to the conference table in House's office; Wilson and Cuddy with questions, Cameron fresh from assuring the Zaheers that their son would recover, and Thirteen and Taub on speaker phone, making their way back to Princeton under dark but clear skies. Outside, the rain had turned to barely a drizzle. House smiled at the symmetry. It had been this way when he accepted the case and it had come full circle at the end.

"Why didn't the Clindomycin clear up the Leptospirosis?" Wilson asked the first question.

"Wrong antibiotic," Cameron answered him. "It made sense for the aspiration pneumonia but it wouldn't touch the Leptospirosis."

House nodded in agreement. "And it worked great for the pneumonia."

"We just didn't believe it," Thirteen said on her end. "We were so focused on the alcohol poisoning as the cause of the kidney failure."

"It seemed like the logical place to start," Wilson admitted. "Even if he'd had a genetic or systemic problem, the alcohol poisoning could have triggered any one of them."

House sighed looking at the white board. "We missed the symptoms," he said, disappointed in himself. "We dismissed the fever and white count as pneumonia, the headache, exhaustion and bloody stool as related to either the pneumonia or kidney failure."

"And when the pneumonia turned out to be pulmonary edema," Wilson began to fill in the gaps, "we went back to alcohol or defect."

"The liver failure didn't help either," Taub added. "I was convinced it was the alcohol when the liver began to go."

House leaned forward on his cane. "The liver should have been the nail in the coffin." He looked over the various diagnoses they'd considered. He cursed hindsight.

Cuddy saw the 'what-ifs' playing in House's mind. "There was no reason to think he'd been exposed to Leptospirosis," she pointed out. "He lives in a dorm in Jersey. No pets. Certainly no livestock."

House looked up at her. "No, no reason. Except that it fit the symptoms."

"I thought it had a pretty long incubation period," Cameron said, wondering if she was mistaken.

"Anywhere from a few days to a couple of weeks," House told her. "But when he went on dialysis, the bacteria got spread through his system even faster. We sped up the infection, which is probably why his kidneys began to fail when you took him off dialysis the first time."

Cuddy shot House a knowing smile. He had been right about the dialysis.

"What's his prognosis?" Wilson asked. "Does he need a new liver now or can he wait the thirty years for his bile ducts to fail?"

House found some amusement in that irony. "He can wait the thirty years. The liver should fine. And we'll know in a couple of hours if his kidneys can handle the antibiotics. If they hold up, most of the damage done should be reversible."

"Thank God," Cuddy sighed.

Taub came back on the line. "What I don't get is how you figured it out at the same time we did, from a hundred miles away."

House grinned at Wilson.

"Uh, that would be me, apparently," Wilson declared with some amusement. "The two of you had been out so long in the rain that I suggested we may need to build an ark. House took it from there, as only House can."

Cameron laughed along with Taub and Thirteen. Wilson sat embarrassed. Cuddy looked fondly on both Wilson and House. Things felt right again for the first time in a long time.

"I've got to get down to the ER," Cameron announced, looking at the time. "I'm already late."

"Thanks for your help in the lab," Wilson said to her.

She beamed. "You're welcome. It was good to be back, but just for the afternoon," she added quickly, looking directly at House.

"You say the nicest things," House told her with half a measure of sarcasm.

"We're going to hang up," they heard Thirteen say. "Taub needs another bathroom break."

"And you need more coffee," Taub insisted. "Or I'm driving the rest of the way back."

"I'm hanging up on you now," House told them, punching the disconnect button.

Cuddy stood with a content smile on her face. "I should get home, too," she said to House and Wilson.

"Aren't you forgetting something?" House waved the urine filled beer bottle at her.

"You still have that thing?" Wilson said, nose turned up.

Cuddy laughed playfully. "You know what. We'll skip it this one time."

"What will the board say?" House asked, trying to remember that laugh for later.

"You saved the kid's life, House. Yesterday's urine will have to do." She bent down for her briefcase. "Goodnight."

"See, that wasn't so bad," House said to Wilson when they were the only two left in the room.

"What, observing you on a case?" Wilson snickered.

"Come on. Admit it. You had fun."

Wilson looked at his best friend who seemed quite pleased with himself. "You had fun," Wilson told House. "I just came along for the ride."

"There wouldn't have been a ride without you," House said, thanking Wilson for agreeing to Cuddy's terms.

"You're welcome," Wilson answered him.

They sat silently for a moment before House's stomach began to growl.

"Chinese?" House suggested over his gurgling stomach.

"You're buying," Wilson informed him.

"Why?"

"Because that way you have no excuse for stealing my food," Wilson explained, turning out the lights as they left House's office.

"This is about the muffin, isn't it?"

"What muffin?"

"You want a blueberry muffin I'll get you a blueberry muffin."

Their voices trailed off as they made their way towards Wilson's office to retrieve his coat.

"And then you'll steal it and I'll have to eat whatever you pick out."

"I guess we're each buying our own muffins then."

"Yes, House. I guess we are.”

 

One month and six cases later, House and Cuddy sate before his therapist waiting anxiously for what came next.


End file.
